ERIC
by fizzychippy
Summary: Peter and Elizabeth have their hands full with this youngster. Kidfic. Warning: Spanking
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** As stated this story contains spanking of a minor - if that bothers you, we trust that you will be adult enough to move on to less risqué pastures. But if you are childish enough to stick around simply long enough to sling an insult, before running off to hide, then be warned, when Peter finds you, you will be paddled all the way home :)

**A/N** We have started a new account to post some of the stories we have written together, so we hope you like this joint effort...Dippy and CK

###

The young boy brushed a clump of dark errant hair away from his eyes and gazed longingly out the window at the kids down below, kids who were playing happily in their driveways, along the pavements and when the traffic permitted, in the middle of the street. It was Saturday morning and he should have been down there too, riding his scooter, bouncing his basketball and of course, trading his little stash of treasures for the neighbour's weekly pocket money. But thanks to some overzealous, try-hard mall cop, he wasn't down on the street with all the other kids, instead, he was stuck in his room, supposedly catching up on assignment work that was long overdue, and severing out, yet another grounding.

The youngster groaned while thinking how horribly unfair and unjust it was to be confined to the house for a whole weekend, and for such a minor misdemeanour. Skipping the last hour on a Friday afternoon, which just so happened to be gym class, to hang out with a buddy at the mall, was hardly the crime of the century! Plus, as if the grounding wasn't bad enough, it had been in addition to the…the other consequences that had already been doled out.

The boy lightly thumped his forehead against the windowpane while he considered how damn unlucky he'd been to get caught out, even though he knew it was his own stupid fault for being so short. At barely four feet, the boy was teetering on the undersized marker of the scale for his eleven years of age. Having said that, he'd been told by those in the know, that he was bound to have a growth spurt any day soon. The boy hoped, out of all the stories he'd been spun to make him feel a little better about the way things were, this one might hold an element of truth.

He forced his face off the window and made a stellar effort to look a little less bothered…least someone believed the grounding to be an effective punishment… as he registered approaching footsteps heading in his direction.

"Air-wick," a little whipper-snapper came bounding into the room and up onto the bed.

"What?"

"Dadda wants to see oo ownd stairs."

"What for?"

"He niden't say."

"Tell him I'm busy."

"Use not busy."

"Yes I am, squirt. Not that you would know, but I have to work on my history assignment that I have to hand in on Monday."

"I cans helb use if oo want."

"No, you can't. You can't even write your name. How the hell are you supposed to help me with my assignment?"

"Dunno," the little guy shrugged as he clambered off the bed and made a beeline for the small study desk. "I can maybes dwaw a pit-ure?"

"Don't even think about touching my stuff, squirt…" then again, Eric smiled as a brilliant plan began to formulate… "Or you know, if you think you can help…I guess I don't mind." The older boy leaned back against the window and watched on with immense satisfaction as the little guy hitched himself up onto the chair and selected a bright red marker from the tub of pens and pencils. But unfortunately, his marvellous plot to get out of what could only be describe as an excruciating exercise in futility, was foiled by a counter force, bellowing up the stairs and into their room …

"Eric! Scott-Allen!"

"Uhs ohs," the little one flung down the pen and scurried off his chair before trotting off to the door. "Dadda ounds cwanky."

"What else is new," Eric grumbled as he trailed the younger boy down the stairs and into the living room. "What did I do now?" he asked as he flopped down onto the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table, eliciting a glare from the two adults who had been in the process of collecting keys, wallets, handbags and jackets.

The man placed his hands on his hips and pursed his lips before ordering, "Feet off the table."

Eric, as though it were a slow motion scene from an olden day movie, slid his feet off, one muscle at a time. Then he looked up with his very best, insolent expression, "Happy?"

No, he wasn't, but it wasn't worth pursuing either. Instead, he turned and addressed the younger boy who had knelt onto the carpet and was busy giving their yellow Labrador a tummy rub. "Scott-Allen, get your jacket on. Mommy is ready to leave."

"As soon as I find where I put my phone. Have you seen it anywhere, hon?"

"I nose wewr it is, Momma," the little boy jumped to his feet, pushed a tv guide off the coffee table and revealed the phone. "Herw is it."

"Thank you, Scottie," the lady crouched down and gave her little boy a loving kiss. "Now go get your jacket and shoe poddies on."

"Okays, Momma."

"Eri, are you ready? Peter's car is parked in front of mine so you two need to leave, ASAP."

Eric cringed and bit his lip to refrain from making some statement about how they didn't have the right to call him that. But if they ever used the other nickname his mom called him, then he'd have something to say. "I'm grounded, remember. I can't go."

"Yes, you can," Peter tossed a brown leather-like jacket over to the boy, "and you are."

"I'm not supposed to leave the house. You said so yourself."

"Cut the nonsense, Eric. Elizabeth needs to get going. Put your shoes on and let's go."

Eric glanced over at the little guy who was unsuccessfully trying to tie his shoelaces. "How come Scottie gets to go with Elizabeth? Why doesn't he have to come too?"

Peter paused with his automated response, wavering on the tip of his tongue. It was a loaded question, the kind the boy always fired when he knew he faired a good chance of getting the response he needed. Peter kicked himself for not having an answer at the ready and the longer he took to reply, the greater the smug satisfaction on the youngster's face became. "Uh…he…"

"He has to come with me," Elizabeth stepped in to save the day. "After we drop the albums off with the client, I have to get Scottie a new pair of kindy shoes. He's scuffed a hole right through the old ones."

"I need new shoes too," Eric declared, even though everyone present knew it not to be true.

"Well, Elizabeth or I can take you out next weekend to get whatever you need, right now, we need to get going."

"I don't want to," the boy grumbled, crossing his arms and making a stand, seeing as how nothing else had worked.

"I don't care," Peter stepped over and took a hold of the youngster's upper arm before pulling him off the couch. "We're going."

"I don't see why I have to and the little squirt doesn't, and particularly this weekend because I'm supposed to be grounded."

"If you're worried, we can add the time spent away from home, onto next weekend," Peter stated, unperturbed as he ushered the boy over to the shoe pile.

Eric grunted some inaudible response as he slipped his feet into his shoes under protest.

"No?" Peter winked sideways at Elizabeth before checking his watch. "Then cut out the shenanigans and let's go. Your dad will be thinking we're not coming."

"If I had my way, Peter, we wouldn't be." Eric slung his jacket over his shoulder and stepped out the door, but not before calling back, "What do I care what Neal thinks?"

Elizabeth turned dishearten eyes towards her husband's matching expression. It was true. If nothing else, in a rare moment, the boy was being honest - he really didn't care if he ever saw his father again.


	2. Chapter 2

"Peter Burke and Eric Hunter," announced the security officer into the all but empty waiting room. Every other visitor had been processed through security so Eric momentarily considered the stupidity of the officer that he couldn't work out that the final two had to be the two remaining names on his list.

Nevertheless, Eric held out his photo ID that was dangling from his lanyard for the officer to scan – he'd come enough times to know the drill. Once inside the large open room, filled with picnic style aluminium tables and a dozen or so inmates sporting their fashionably repulsive fluro orange jump suits alongside their motley collection of friends and family, Eric scanned the tables for his own private slice of shame.

"There he is," Peter crouched down and pointed to the table in the far corner.

Eric looked across and was visibly disappointed to see Neal waving back. Surely one Saturday, he had to be lucky enough that the guy would be incapacitated with the flu or a sprained ankle or something that he needed to be in the infirmary and they'd have to turn around and go home…

"Over you go," Eric felt himself being nudged towards Neal.

…but sadly, that wasn't going to happen today. "I'm going," Eric grumbled as he pulled his shoulder away from the helping hand and dragged his feet over to the corner. Peter stayed behind. Peter always stayed behind. The first thirty minutes were just for him and Neal…or so Peter said. Eric wondered how someone could possibly consider a chat under these conditions to be in any way intimate with the surveillance cameras, the guards listening in, and all the other people in the room privy to everything that was being said.

"Hey, Eric," Neal got up and wrapped the boy in a warm embrace. "It's good to see you."

Eric held his breath for the duration of the hug and sighed with relief when it was finally over. He slid down onto the bench seat as quickly as he could, least there be another hug or dare he even consider, something more cringe worthy like a kiss on the forehead. "Hi," he mumbled by way of a greeting.

"How are you doing?"

And so began the endless array of aimless questions…

"Fine."

…and his one syllable replies.

"You have a good week at school?"

The questions were always the same…

"Yeah."

And his answers equally unoriginal. Not that he cared. It was just an exercise he needed to proceed through and after thirty minutes, it would be all over and he'd be allowed to reclaim his freedom. Which was more than could be said for Neal. The guy was going to be stuck in this tiresome dwelling for at least another nine months, maybe more.

"Peter said you got yourself into a bit of trouble yesterday."

_Of course he did._ "A bit," Eric shrugged uncaringly as he gazed around the room. There were kids sitting at almost every table and the guards always seemed very casual with their interactions with the visitors, not like the no-nonsense, all serious business types he'd seen on the TV cop shows. This was, according to 'Agent' Peter, a low security prison for non-violent offenders. In other words, it was a pretend detention centre for incompetent criminals who were stupid enough to get caught stealing paper from the copy room.

"You need to try and do the right thing, Eric. I believe the school said that would be your last warning. The next time you will earn yourself a suspension. You have to follow the school rules and also, whatever Peter and Elizabeth tell you to do."

Eric bit into his bottom lip and dropped his gaze to his lap in an effort to restrain himself from telling Neal exactly what he could do with his advice. He couldn't believe the man had the gall to lecture him about what was right or wrong, considering his current position and what had got him there in the first place. But Eric didn't care to even bother enter an argument when, ultimately, he didn't give a flying fruit basket about what he said or the advice he bestowed. "Okay," he mumbled, hoping that would be the end of the story and they could move on.

"Okay," Neal repeated, seemingly relieved himself that the issue had been raised as instructed by a higher authority and could now be pushed off to the side, never to be seen, or heard of again. "How's Scottie? He still driving you crazy with his dinosaur obsession?"

"Yeah."

"And what about Elizabeth? Did you help her with some of the cooking this week?"

"A bit." Eric rested his elbow on the table and cradled his chin in his palm, but not before checking his watch. Only five minutes down, twenty-five to go. The youngster groaned inwardly and wondered what his mom was doing. Neal never asked about his mom, he only ever asked about Elizabeth like she was somehow in place of his mom. Eric was secretly glad Neal didn't ask about his mom because he wasn't sure how he would respond, but he did know it wouldn't be in any way pleasant. For more than ten years, Neal or even Peter or Elizabeth for that matter, hadn't bothered to ask about his mom. They never made contact, they never tried to find out how everything was going, if she was doing well or not, was she in trouble, did she need help, so it really would be incredibly insulting of any of them to go asking now. Eric guessed that was why Neal steered away from the taboo topic – at least he was smart enough to do that.

"So what do you have planned for the rest of the weekend?"

"I'm sure Peter told you already, I'm grounded remember."

"Ah, yeah. Sorry, I forgot."

"I can't imagine how. It's not like you've got a whole lot to think about in here." Eric made a point to gaze around the room, like it was Neal's whole world. Eric couldn't understand why the man was still here. After everything his mom had told him about the virtuoso super criminal that could forge or steal anything, and was totally untouchable, it was such a let down to see the guy for actually who he was – a loser. If he couldn't break out of this simpleton detention centre, his mom had him pegged completely wrong.

"How are you going with your school work? Are you having any trouble with any of the subjects?"

"No." Surely sooner or later, Neal was going to have a conversation with Peter about the needless point of these Saturday morning visits. But in the meantime, Eric hoped like hell the guy would eventually get sick of the non-responsive attitude and say enough was enough, that it wasn't doing either of them any good and they should simply stick to Birthday presents and Christmas cards.

"I've been really looking forward to you visiting me this morning."

Eric couldn't possibly imagine why. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I did a painting for you."

Eric involuntarily glanced under the table.

"It's not here. You'll be able to collect it at the security gate. I've been working on it for a little while now, but I finally finished it."

Eric waited for more, but there wasn't any. He guessed it was his turn. "Thanks."

"That's okay. I hope you like it."

"Yeah." Not much chance of that. "You know," Eric indicated over his shoulder, "I think Peter is ready for his turn. I'm just gonna wait over by the exit."

"You've got to go?" Neal checked the large clock on the wall. "It's still only twenty past."

"Yeah. I think Peter has some stuff he wants to do on the way home." Eric hoped not but anything would be better than this.

"Oh. Okay then. I guess I'll see you next week?"

"I guess."

Neal hopped up and came around the table but Eric had already moved off towards the security gate. He lifted his hand and gave a quick wave.

"See you, Eric. I miss you," Neal called after him, but the boy had already turned his back and was no doubt out of ear-shot.

###

"What did you and Neal talk about?"

Peter took his eyes off the road for a second to glance in his rear view mirror at his backseat passenger. "You want to know?" If the boy did, it would be the first time.

"Not really." But, yes. Really. He did want to know if Neal had tried to tell Peter he didn't need to continue these agonizing visits so he could support the argument by agreeing that it really wasn't necessary.

"We talked about you of course," Peter went on to explain, despite the implied request not too. "Neal always wants to know how you are holding up and what you've been doing through the week."

"Is that right?"

For Neal's sake, Peter tried his best to ignore the insolent attitude. "Yes. He was saying that there's a chance he might be able to get out in as little as six months if all goes well with the parole board at the end of this month."

"Fantastic," the boy mumbled sarcastically.

"He misses you, you know," Peter declared over his shoulder, "and wants very much for you all to be together as family."

"And how is that supposed to work, Peter?"

Peter gazed off absently into the traffic ahead while he tried to figure out a plausible answer. _How was it going to work? _Unfortunately, for all parties involved, he had no idea how it possibly could.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey E!"

Eric paused with his cafeteria tray hovering over the table, so he could call over his shoulder, "Hey C. I thought Mrs Burrows must have kept you in again. I know she only wants to stop the kids having food cause she's on some serious diet herself."

"Well if she's not," Eric's friend dropped his own tray down on the table and slid onto the bench seat opposite, "she ought to be."

Eric laughed. "How was your weekend?"

"Could have been better, hows about yours?"

Eric shrugged non-committedly as he bit into his salad roll.

"How did your oldies take the news? Your dad, I mean, Mr Burke looked like he was ready to string you up when we came out of the headmaster's office."

"Yeah, he was pretty pissed."

"Guess it'll come as no great shock that my mom hit the roof too. Told me she didn't want me turning out like my older brother and then she put Dad on the phone. He read me the riot act, in between taking his, 'more important' client calls. Said, 'Listen here, Carl'…and then he said, 'Hold the line, I'll speak to you in a moment.' So I put Mom back on the phone and the two of them had this massive fight over who was to blame for my 'delinquency.' Then Mom ended up bringing Dad's new girlfriend into the conversation and that's when I left the room."

"Well, at least you haven't been grounded from now till the end of time."

"No, that may be true but Mom said I could kiss my NaNOT3 Gadget Gear goodbye that she had promised me."

"No way. I was so looking forward to you getting that!"

"Yep. Would have been a lot of fun to play around with during recess." Carl let his eyes wonder around the room, as he spotted the various electronic devices the youngster were messing around with between bites.

Eric gazed around the cafeteria also. He was disappointed that Carl wouldn't be getting the NaNOT3. He'd been excited about trying out the spy tech functions, but he also felt bad. It had pretty much been his fault that they'd gone and got into trouble in the first place – he'd talked Carl into skipping class, and he'd been the one that had got himself caught at the mall because of his height. And to make it worse, not once during the headmaster's grilling inquisition, during the phone calls to the parents/guardians or the subsequent doling out of three pounding strokes of the old wooden school paddle across each backside, had Carl attempted to protect his own butt by ratting out his friend or even suggesting for a second that it hadn't been his idea.

"Hey, not to worry," Carl offered. "I'm sure we would have just got bored of it anyways."

"Mmm," Eric considered. "I'm not so sure about that. Give me a few days to try and think of something. It's not right that you should be missing out on something good due to our unfortunate luck." And it had been bad luck. When they had heard during the morning announcements that the senior students were allocated the afternoon session off due to some teacher PD thing, the two boys had figured it was only fair they treat themselves to some time off as well. So rather than going to gym class, they ducked out and headed over to the Westside Center Mall, which was a popular after-school hang out due to its close proximity. Not surprisingly, many of the senior students had the same idea and the food court was abound with the dull brown and white, antiquated Barkley House uniforms. Unfortunately, said senior students were all considerably taller than Eric so when he was approached by the mall cop as he purchased his lime-splice spider from the ice-cream outlet, his story didn't gel like it should have and the headmaster was called. Apparently, the headmaster explained on the ride back to school, the mall snitcher's son was also a student at the school and _didn't_ have the afternoon off.

"Errr, I dunno, E. I don't want either you or I getting into trouble again, anytime soon. I can only speak for myself, but my poor rear end is going to stay well away from the headmaster's room for a very long time."

Eric chuckled, "Hopefully mine too." He stood up and collected his tray. "I need to make a bathroom stop before Italian class. Seniora Martia said if I took any more bathroom breaks during her lessons I'd have to make it up in detention."

"That's only cause the last lesson you were out of the room for over twenty minutes."

"She's not to know I don't have some chronic bowl condition."

Carl laughed after his friend as they pushed through the doors of the boys' bathroom. But the laughing came to an abrupt end as he was thrust against the wall by some giant buffoon.

"Give me your money, scrawny gutter grot."

Eric stopped in his tracks for a moment, as his brain fast-tracked their current predicament. The student holding his friend against the wall was an older boy, maybe fourteen, so most likely a Year 9 student. He was more than a head taller than Carl but that's not where the advantage ended. His two friends, who were guarding the exit, were about the same height, maybe even taller and at least twice as ugly. Eric hadn't known they allowed actual buffoons to enrol in this supposedly prestigious school. The mental image of apes in the fancy uniform made Eric laugh out loud.

The ring-leader turned and snarled at the smallest of the boys. "You think this is funny, gutter licker?"

"Yeah. I do," Eric lifted his chin and even stepped closer, impressing that he had no fear of these idiots. "Just how stupid are you? We're coming out of the cafeteria, Einstein. You're supposed to get the money before we go in."

"Plant his smug face in the bowl," the leader demanded of his goons. "See if he still finds it funny after he's licked someone's lunch leftovers after they've come out of a smelly asshole."

"No problem," Eric stated, still unfazed by the whole experience. "However, I want you to know, 'Einstupid,' that before this is over, despite what your mindless friends do to me, if nothing else, I will make it my mission to knee you in the groin, slide my fingers into your eye sockets and gouge out whatever nerve endings I can behind your eyes. But," he continued, "before you start something here, you all need to ask yourself, "Eric glanced over his shoulder addressing the other two boys, "if you're happy to go down this path. I myself, don't give a stinking rats ass about this school, my permanent record or what college I don't get into. Some do, not me. Apparently this school has a zero tolerance on fighting, so if you're as happy as me to get expelled, go ahead, I really don't have anything to lose."

The leader's mouth dropped open ready to repeat his original order but one of the other boy's cut in, "Come on, Alec, these babies aren't worth the trouble. Let's get outta here."

Alec pressed his lips together before declaring, "You know what, this skinny toilet brush aint worth the shit he's been rolling in. Let's go."

Carl waited till the door shut completely before grabbing Eric in a grateful thank you hug. "E, you were amazing! How did you not shit your pants? How did you do that man?"

"It was nothin."

"It was Somethin! Man, you were the coolest bad ass, I've ever seen. That piece of shit was like, twice your size. Were you really going to gauge his eyes?"

"Of course. It's one of the easiest places you penetrate a person's body to made contact with a bunch of sensitive nerves. It would have been very painful…and seriously damaging so don't go trying it out on your older brother."

Carl shook his head, "Man, I don't know how you know this stuff!"

Eric shrugged, "I picked things up along the way. We lived in some pretty tough cities along the Mediterranean coast – they weren't all Port Grimaud and Naxos Island. You learn things to help you get through when you're the new kid on the block all the time."

"Well, I sure am glad you decided to drop into Brooklyn for a little while. You saved my butt."

"Yeah, well I'm not going to be able to save it if were late for class, so hold this for me while I go." Eric handed his friend his school bag then disappeared into one of the stalls so his friend couldn't see his face. It hadn't been his decision to 'drop into Brooklyn,' and he'd wished many times over that they'd never stepped a foot in the city. If they hadn't come to New York in the first place, everything would have been just like it used to be.


	4. Chapter 4

Eric stepped through the front door and flung his bag onto the stairs before kicking off his shoes and discarding his jacket, which he hurled on top of the bag. He stomped into the living area, his mood only slightly less agitated than when Peter had first collected him after school to take him to his appointment. Eric had hoped, since he'd heard the agent discussing with Elizabeth, a busy caseload he was in the middle of, that he may not have to go, but Peter had turned up to collect him at the usual time. Eric had proposed that from now on he could make his own way to the appointment, if he felt like an appointment was even necessary but Peter hadn't so much as humoured the suggestion with a response. In which case, all the way to the doctor's office, Eric had made it his mission to make the trip as uncomfortably irritating as he could, by complaining, whining, grumbling and citing once again that he shouldn't be expected to act responsibly if he was never allowed to make decisions and do things on his own.

"Dadda, dadda," the little rug rat came running past Eric, ignoring him completely and into the arms of his father, who had was still coming through the door.

"Hey, little man. You have a good day?"

"Ah huh," Scottie nodded. "I gots to hab my terwn holbing Misterw Wax today!"

"You had a turn with Mister Max?"

The child nodded, excitedly.

"That's awesome, Scottie."

Eric groaned and rolled his eyes with a, 'you've got to be kidding me,' expression. Anyone would think the kid had been given a chance to snuggle up to de Milo's Aphrodite and not the oversized feral rat they called the class pet. Hell, it was highly unlikely Scott-Allen had even heard of Aphrodite! By the time he was the squirt's age, his mom had taken him to all the European art galleries and museums, his favourite being the Uffizi Gallery in Firenze. He figured the only place Scott's mom had ever taken him to was to Kindy, and of course the playground at the end of the road.

"Hi hon," Elizabeth appeared on the scene and kissed Peter before planting a kiss on the top of Eric's head has he tried to dance out of the path. "I hear you've already been informed of the exciting news?"

Eric groaned some more. These people were just too much.

"Well, come on, all of you. You can finish talking over dinner. Go wash up, the food's already on the table."

Eric was happy to disappear up the stairs to the bathroom, but wasn't so happy when he sat down at the table and examined the menu. "Lasagne?"

"I thought you liked lasagne, sweetie." Elizabeth went about serving the boys while Peter lifted Scottie onto his booster seat.

"I do when it's made with home made pasta and sauce. Did you make the pasta?"

"I didn't. I'm sorry, Eri. I didn't have time after I got home. I know you like the fresh pasta so maybe on the weekend you and I can make it from scratch." She laid down the plate in front of the boy then went about getting her own.

Eric folded his arms, possibly more put out by what Elizabeth had just called him than the issue in front. "I'm not hungry."

"I'm sure you are a bit hungry. Why don't you try it? It's probably not as bad as you think."

"No thanks."

Elizabeth opened her mouth with a counter offer but Peter held up his hand, indicating it was his turn. "That's fine, sport. But if you don't eat your dinner then you don't get any dessert."

Eric's eyes immediately shot to the large hot apple pie, sitting beside the lasagne dish. "Well that's hardly fair. Just cause I don't like something, I have to miss out on something I do?"

Peter nodded, "Yep, that's the way it is."

"So I won't get any dessert if I don't eat this?" He held his hands over his plate like it was a bowl of gruel.

"That's right."

Scottie paused with a forkful of food on the way to his mouth. "Air-wick, use can sharw mine desserp wib me if oo want."

Elizabeth patted his son on the arm, "That's very kind of you to offer, Scottie, but no, Eric can't share your dessert with you."

"Why not? Why can't he share his dessert if he wants to? He offered. What's it teaching him if you're telling him not to share?"

Peter sighed in frustration and was about to lose it when Elizabeth cut in, "Listen Eric, I know this isn't how you like your lasagne, so if you just make an effort to eat, let's say half, and all of your salad then you can still have the apple pie."

Eric pressed his lips together as he considered the offer. The store bought pasta, while not much better than slices of cardboard, was coated with meat and sauce so it probably wasn't the worst thing in the world to have to shove down his throat, plus, it was as though the apple pie was calling his name. He couldn't not have a piece. "Fine."

Elizabeth nodded, with relief. "That's good, sweetie because I have a new tube of madagascar vanilla ice-cream to have with the apple pie."

The boys' eyes lit up – Eric's because madagascar vanilla was his very favourite and Scottie's because any time Eric got excited, he did too.

"Thanks, Elizabeth."

"You're welcome, sweetie. Now eat up."

Eric scooped up some of the lasagne surrounded by a piece of lettuce and tomato. It didn't taste as bad when it had some fresh veggies to conceal the taste.

"How did you go this afternoon at Doctor Patrick's?" Elizabeth asked as she set about eating her own meal.

Eric glanced at the time on his watch before shrugging, "Okay."

Elizabeth waited for more, but there wasn't any so she glanced across at Peter who shook his head ever so slightly.

"How was your day, hon? Did your bridal party end up deciding on a theme?"

"No. And I can't see it happening anytime soon…

Eric tuned out the oldies and continued eating the spruced up cardboard. Every chance he got, he let some of it spill off his fork and onto the floor beside his chair leg, right where the Labrador had come to wait, expectantly.

Scottie noticed what the older boy was doing and with a twinkle in his eye, tried it out for himself, except he wasn't as covert and Peter saw.

"Scott Allen! You better not be doing what it looks like you're doing?"

"My sowwy, Dadda," he offered while dropping his bottom lip.

"Eat up," he stated, fixing a glare with the older boy at the same time.

"Uh huh, my am."

"Is that enough, Elizabeth?" Eric ignored any implied direction from his right and lifted his plate to the left.

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, while considering, "Maybe just three more mouthfuls and then you can have some pie."

"Ans Wice Cweams," Scottie added.

"Yes, sweetie, and ice-cream."

Grudgingly, Eric scooped three minuscule portions into his mouth and announced, "Done."

Elizabeth didn't comment as she left the room to collect the ice-cream. Best she didn't say anything because it wouldn't be a battle she would win tonight.

The two boys happily worked their way through their dessert then Peter announce while they were scaping the final crumbs from their bowls, "Okay, both of you, go brush your teeth, time for bed."

"What?" Eric's eyes shot up. "Not me too?"

"Yes, you too," Peter stated indifferently as he went about helping Elizabeth to stack the dinner dishes.

Eric checked his watch again. "But I don't have to get into bed for another hour and a half. I'm not a baby." He directed the last statement at the little guy.

Scottie didn't seem, or appear to be bothered as he snatched some apple out of his bowl as his mother was removing it from under his chin.

"No, you're not," Peter stated. "But you have been irritable, unpleasant and obnoxious ever since I picked you up from school. I think an early night may help remedy your grumpiness and start you off on the right foot tomorrow."

"This isn't-"

"Fair? I know, I've heard the speech already, now listen to mine… Bed."

Scottie didn't need to be told twice. He clambered off his seat and over to his dad. "Use weading my tory tonigh?"

"Yes, bud, I'll be up as soon as I've helped Mommy clean up the dishes…but first," Peter turned the little boy sideways and swatted his butt. Scottie yelped and flung his hands back to rub at the sting. "What don't we do at the table, Scott-Allen?"

The little guy blinked away the sudden mist of tears that was blurring his vision before answering, "Nots to wop food on the door?"

"Yes, sport. Don't purposely drop your food on the floor again."

"I wonts, Dadda."

"Good, now up you go," Peter sent the little one on his way with another, much gentler tap to his rear. "I'll be up in about ten minutes," he called after him before spinning back around in his chair and fixing his attention on the older boy.

Eric remained unbudging. "I'm not going to bed like a four year old baby."

"Yes, you are, and if you call Scott-Allen a baby again, or any other name that is derogatory, I will put you over my knee while you and I have a very long chat about disrespect.

Eric shrugged his shoulders to show he didn't care, and slouched in his seat some more.

"Well," Elizabeth stood up, indication the boy should do the same. "I'm going to start on the dishes. I've put some fresh towels under the sink in the bathroom, Eri, and there's a new bottle of shampoo in the cabinet. I think the old one is just about empty."

"Fine," Eric pushed back his chair and stood up with all the dramatic infliction he could muster. "Nothins gonna be happening down here anyway." He moved around the table, keeping what he thought was a safe buffer between himself and Peter, but it so happened that Eric incorrectly predicted the man's reach. "Hey-" was all he got out before one large hand swatted his backside, hard. He tried to jump clear but he appeared to be anchored by his upper arm.

Peter waited till the boy gave in and stopped moving before he asked, "What don't we do at the dinner table, Eric?"

Eric glared at the man for treating him the same as his four year old…baby! While he was busy considering an appropriate response to such a childish question, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of said baby, stopped at the bottom of the stairs, no doubt waiting to see what would happen next. Eric shot a glance over his shoulder to see if Elizabeth was doing the same, and what a shock...she was. Eric locked eyes with Peter once more. The man looked at the ready to pound his ass the moment he uttered any words other than, 'Nots to wop food on the door.' And sure the swats would sting, but he was a Hunter, and he had a reputation to uphold.

"Eric…" Peter repeated. "What don't we do at the dinner table?"

Eric shrugged before responding with more indifference than Peter had ever achieved, "What don't we do? Many things, but the first to spring to mind is that at this table, we don't eat decent pasta. Marilena's Italian Kitchen anyone?"


	5. Chapter 5

Eric lay stretched out in bed, staring at the light breaking through his window shining up from the street lamp and flicking across his ceiling. It made a most interesting design of scattered ovals and intricate crisscross lines, and the opportunist inside him mentally stored the aesthetically pleasing pattern away to use in his visual arts assignment, which wasn't due for a couple of weeks.

Checking his watch for about the twentieth time, he shut his eyes and groaned with boredom. How the hell was he supposed to drop off to sleep when his body clock wasn't anywhere near ready? It had been monumentally unfair being sent off to bed like a…along with the little squirt. Peter had, once again, totally overreacted to the whole situation by firstly imposing a completely unreasonable forced slumber and then by… Eric cringed as he shuffled on the bed, a small tingle in his rear reminding him of his unfortunate encounter with the man's unnaturally hard, unyielding palm. In retrospect, he probably should have relented and given some weak, Burke friendly answer like, 'We shouldn't drop our dinner on the floor,' but his more creative response, certainly hadn't warranted the half dozen or so subsequent whacks that had rained down upon his sorry behind.

After he'd scurried upstairs, he'd made a point of staying in the shower for as long as he could, simply so he didn't add to his embarrassment by having to face his executioner for the rest of the evening. As planned, by the time he'd finished in the bathroom, Peter was done with reading to the squirt and was already back downstairs with Elizabeth. Eric didn't care too much that he'd missed out on listening to the next chapter and finding how Moonface and Bessie escaped from the land of Orchestra Instruments. It was a little kid's story after all, and besides, it was something he could easily read himself, if he could be bothered.

In his immense state of boredom, Eric attempted to listen to what might be happening down stairs…what movie the oldies may be watching, what college football game Peter was engrossed in…what hushed conversations they were having because they figured no prying ears were listening. One night, not long after he'd come to stay, he'd made a trip to the bathroom long after everyone had gone to bed, and he'd heard Peter and Elizabeth whispering in their bedroom about their house guest. Eric had strained to make out the exact words but the gist of the conversation seemed to be a discussion about whether there were any other possible living arrangements for the bunch of trouble they'd just inherited…or something to that extent.

Eric checked his watch for the twenty-first time and considered sneaking to the top of the stairs, more for want of something to do, than of any real interest in what he might overhear, but was stopped by the rustling coming from the bed against the opposite wall. Soon after, the tell-tale shuffling of little feet padding across the carpet, stopped at his bed.

"What's up, squirt?"

"Cans my get in?"

Eric rolled his eyes, for the benefit of no one but himself. "Yeah. Get in."

He pulled back the blanket, shuffled over and made room. For a little while, both boys lay in silence, staring up at the ceiling. Eric checked his watch again. "Arrrgh," he moaned.

"What wongs?"

"Nothin, squirt," Eric whined, with effort.

"Air-wick…"

"Yeah?"

"Hows come use hab dat on?"

"What? My watch?"

"Yep. Use oorways hab its on in bed."

"So?"

Scottie shrugged. "Dunno."

"Maybe I like how it can do this…" Eric pressed a button on the side and the inner casing and clock-face lit up with a bright blue, then a green, a yellow, orange and finally all colours flashing in quick succession.

"Wow," Scottie gasped. "That sooooo cooool. Cans I hab a turwn?"

"I suppose so," Eric levelled his wrist above Scottie's chest. "Just press this button here…"

But instead of touching any of the buttons, Scottie placed his fingers on the metallic band, "Cans I hab it on my arm?"

Eric shook his head. "Nope."

"Whys not?"

"Listen squirt," Eric stated firmly, "either press the button or don't, but my arm's getting tired of holding still."

"Okays," Scottie reached out and touched a different button. This one shot a tiny led spot light out of the top of the casing. Both boys looked up as it made a little white dot on the ceiling. "Coooool."

"Yeah," Eric said in a distant voice as he remembered something that made him suddenly recoil his arm and tuck it away under the covers.

Scottie watched the reaction but didn't say anything.

After another long stretch of silence, Eric finally asked, "How come you're not tired, squirt? You should be on your third dream by now."

Scottie shrugged, "Dunno."

"Probably that big serve of apple pie and ice-cream you had? There was enough sugar in that bowl to power an ethanol vehicle from Jersey to Tennessee."

"Pwobabsly."

"You've got no idea what I'm talking about, have you, squirt?"

"Yeas."

"Okay," Eric shut his eyes, forcing himself not to look at the time on his watch anymore.

"Air-wick…"

"Yeah?"

"Cans use tell me ones of da tories?"

"Which one?"

"Da ones when use sescape fwoms da means kins car tells."

Eric laughed, "Sir Marc was many things, but he was not a king, my young naïve friend."

"Whats was he?"

"Okay, you close your eyes, get comfortable," Eric waited for the little boy to manoeuvre himself for a better position on the pillow before he continued, "and imagine the clearest, bluest, freshest water on the planet, so clear that you can see your toes in the water, even when the water is as deep as your neck…"

He continued to tell the story until he heard the long, regular beat of soft breathing coming from the little guy. Eric wished he could drop off to sleep as easily but instead, found himself thinking of the story some more – not the fantasy version he'd been telling Scottie, but the actual version of events. And try as he might to distract himself by staring at patterns on the ceiling or playing with his watch, the memory persisted in his head…even well after he'd fallen asleep.

And such was his immersion into the depths of the story that Eric never stirred when the little guy was lifted from his bed and carried back to his own, and he wasn't even slightly roused when someone readjusted his blanket and kissed him lovingly on his forehead. Unfortunately, he didn't wake until the dream played out to its frightening finale and became too much for his consciousness to handle, at which time he was startled awake, gasping for air and shedding silent tears of relief that he was, in fact, where he was.


	6. Chapter 6

"Any sign that your mom is going to renege on her promise to renege on the promise that she had made prior to the first one?"

"Huh?" Carl had so much burger patty and bun shoved in his mouth, his muffled response was pretty much incoherent. "Iidtn't ha acoo oh wa o oust aid."

Eric laughed from the bottom of his belly while placing his juice back onto the table before it spilt. "Are you the pot or am I?"

This time Carl swallowed down some of the food in his mouth before answering. "Again, I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

"The NaNOT3." Eric held his hands out, palms up, like the invisible gadget may very well be resting on them. "Just the only thing we've been talking about for the past month. You know, the thing your mom was going to buy for you before she went back on her word and said she wouldn't."

"Yes, I haven't forgotten and clearly neither has Mom because look…" he held out his own empty palms, "…no NaNOT."

"After it was already a yes."

"Well, I guess that's the price you have to pay when you want to, what did you say, 'Live today in case tomorrow your body is taken over by an invisible alien race that can't stand watching the humans any longer."

Eric smiled, that smile he got when a plan came together in his constantly modulating thought processes. He leaned forward on the table and lowered his voice to an excited whisper, "Listen mi compadre, I have a plan that gets you to live like you are one of the master alien race."

"Does this plan involve me seeing my college tuition transferring to Mom's life membership at the Carson's Spa and Relaxation Resort?"

Eric shook his head. "No. No way this can come back to bite you my friend…or me," he added after he saw the question forming on Carl's lips.

"Okay, you have me interested, E. Tell me more."

Eric took a moment to let his gaze wander around the room before he turned back to face his friend. "Tell me, what day is the cafeteria at its busiest?"

"Fridays."

"Why?

Carl took a moment to consider. Finally he shrugged, "I guess it's all most parents can do to make it through the week. They wake up Friday morning and think crap, it's still not the weekend! And the last thing they feel like doing is preparing a school lunch. If they can get out of doing even that one menial chore, it's money well spent."

"Correct, my knowledgeable young friend."

"You know I'm older than you right?"

"Mmmm," Eric ignored the statement completely. "I'm guessing there's a significant amount of bribe money happening also. You know, you've been good this week Freddie, here's ten bills to spend on an ice cream and a-"

"Milkshake?" Carl proudly lifted his malted chocolate shake. "This Freddie has not stepped out of line once this week."

Both boys chuckled and then Carl became serious once more. He asked quietly, "So what's that got to do with my NaNOT3?"

"Tomorrow, we're going to, or should I say, I'm going to borrow the money from the cash register."

"Are you going to give the money back?"

Eric shrugged, "Highly unlikely."

"Then…isn't that what the rest of us, and by us I'm including Headmaster McCuen, would call stealing?"

"Yeah, the rest of you probably would, even McCuen, but that's where you'd go wrong. If you start thinking of it as stealing, then that's when you start tripping over your moral compass and land right in the fat lap of the where the power mongers want you."

"Yeah…" Carl thought about his friend's words of wisdom before responding sarcastically, "I can see your point."

Eric pretended not to notice. "I thought you would."

"So explain to me again how this is only borrowing?"

"Your Parents and mi-" Eric cleared his throat and started again, "We have people paying for our tuition here right?"

Carl nodded.

"An exorbitant amount," Eric said mostly to himself. "But that's not what this is about. Our tuition fees get paid into the school coffers, the cafeteria money goes into the school coffers, the volunteer contributions go into the school coffers-"

"Those coffers gotta be big mothers."

"You have no idea. Anyway, if we take some money out to pay for your NaNOT3, your dad, and let's face it, when he finds out that your mom reneged on her promise he's gonna run to the nearest store-"

"Have his secretary run to the nearest store," Carl corrected.

"He's going to have his secretary run to the nearest store to buy you not one, but two of the NaNOT3 Special Edition…" Eric waited till he saw a twinkle in his friend's eye before continuing… " Which means, the next time they send the volunteer contribution envelope around, he's going to have a little bit less to put in it, than if we didn't borrow the money from the cafeteria register in the first place."

Carl's smile stretched from ear to ear, "It's a whole lot of BS but it's BS my conscious can live with. Good job, E. Good job on making stealing from the school, actually sound like we are doing them a favour in the long term."

"Glad you approve, C. Now-"

"So how do we do it?"

Eric gave an exaggerated frustrated sigh, and waited for his friend to clam up before continuing, "Now, here's the play. Tomorrow, I'm going to get in line with my lunch and make my way to the cash register. As soon as I get to the top of the line, that's when you use this," Eric retrieved a phone from his backpack. "Don't worry, it's a burner phone, they'll never be able to trace it back to you," he explained as he passed it over. "When I'm at the register, dial the cafeteria's number while at the same time, your elbow is accidently going to bump into the ketcup dispenser and soon after, three gallons of red sauce will go splashing all over the floor. The ladies serving behind the counter will race over to attend to the mess, leaving no one to take the call other than the one left standing at the cashier drawer. I only need a few seconds to open the drawer and remove the money."

"Won't the drawer be locked? She's not likely to move away, in front of a room full of kids and leave a whole drawer of cash at the hands of anyone who can press the 'change' button. I'm sure she'll take her key with her when she goes to take the call."

"Oh please," Eric mocked. "Give me some credit…it'll be real simple trust me. I have a tried and tested lock-pick set under my bed but even if I didn't, it'd be no contest. It's a single latch turn," he stated simply, like that explained everything.

"Okay, but what about the other kids waiting by the register, won't they see you unlocking the drawer and taking out the money?"

"They would," Eric grinned, "if they didn't have something else to look at."

"What will they be looking at?"

"Once you've set the ketchup free, you are going to set a grasshopper free."

Carl smiled, "Where?"

"Down the girl's blouse."

"Which girl?"

"Any girl."

"What if she likes grasshoppers?"

"Believe me," Eric shrugged happily. "Just choose anyone. You can't lose. Nothing can possibly go wrong."


	7. Chapter 7

Eric dragged his feet along the seashore not caring that each new wave of water sloshed over the top of his sandals and up through the bottom seam of his denim jeans. Elizabeth had told him to wear beach shorts but seeing as how he wasn't prepared to classify this as a beach by any stretch of the imagination, he elected to wear something that was suitable for any occasion. And to help drive his point home, he'd gone to walk out of the house in his dress shoes but predictably, Peter had chased him back in to change into 'more appropriate' footwear.

Eric checked the time on his watch and sighed deeply as he stared down at the murky grey water as it retreated back to the depths of the North Atlantic Ocean. At some point the water would transform and clear of its muck and pollution as it melded with the waters of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria off the coast of Morocco where he'd spent two wonderful months, soaking up the summer sun and splashing in the aqua blue waters of their island resort. It's where he'd mastered shallow water snorkelling and learnt off Nicarlan, one of the locals, how to spearfish. Eric's eyes looked longingly out into the water. There was no snorkelling to be had on this beach, not even any swimming for that matter. Most people were smart enough to decide it was no longer warm enough to bother coming to the seaside and were happy to spend their Sunday afternoon doing something far more interesting indoors.

Turning and trudging up the beach towards the boardwalk, Eric imprinted his sole pattern right over the top of the other imprints he'd already left on one of his many passes along the same path. The sand was gritty and discoloured and it reminded him too much of where he was…and where he wished he'd rather be. Eric wondered what Elizabeth and Peter would think about the pure white sand granules on Laylette Beach on the Montenegro border or the picturesque coastline in front of their medieval Sardinian villa. As he moved up the beach, he kicked the caked mud off his sandals by hitting his feet together so by the time he had reached the boardwalk, only a small amount remained stuck to the shoes and between his toes.

He turned once more and marched purposely along the well-worn boards until he reached his target.

"Can we go now?"

"No."

"Can I go now? I'm happy to make my own way home, no need for you two to have to leave this…" Eric waved his hand to take in the surrounds, "…paradise."

"No," Peter stated in an unperturbed tone while he continued to sip from his soda can.

"Isn't it enough that you force me to spend my Saturday mornings enduring an uncomfortable pseudo family reunion? You demand I come out every Sunday afternoon to participate in…" Eric shook his head, "whatever you want to call this."

"Today it's called a family picnic."

"Eric sweetie," Elizabeth held up a small Tupperware container filled with the leftovers, "How about another sandwich or cupcake before I pack them away?"

"No, thank you…but since I'm not family, doesn't that mean I get an exemption?"

"No, you don't." Peter took a neatly cut egg sandwich triangle out of the pro-offered container and put the whole thing in his mouth. "Now if you don't what anything else to eat, why not go and help Scott-Allen with his castle or maybe you know, do another couple of laps to walk off some more of your aggitation." Originally it had been Elizabeth's suggestion, but every time the kid stopped on his way past to complain about everything from the annoying flies to the colour of the sky, Peter had encouraged him to continue on his way stating that the exercise and fresh air was good for him.

Eric glanced up the length of the boardwalk and an idea sparked in his brain resulting in a satisfying grin. "Maybe I might, and maybe I might forget to turn down at the designated lamppost and instead just keep walking. Maybe I might keep walking and maybe I might make it all the way home before I realise that I went past your infantile set of boundaries."

"And maybe," Peter matched the boy's challenging tone, "when I catch up with you at the second lamppost, maybe my hand might just connect with your backside and maybe it might just keep doing that all the way back here."

Eric huffed audibly and glared at the man, half tempted to see if he actually could catch up with him by the time he reached the second marker. Eric doubted the agent had even half his physical ability and would most likely collapse holding his left arm, long before he even came close. It really would be no contest.

"Sweetie, how about you go down and tell Scottie he's got ten more minutes and then we'll all go and get an ice-cream?"

"I don't want an ice-cream."

El took in a deep calming breath without it being too noticeable. "What would you like then? Maybe a pretzel or a donut?"

Eric gazed back over his shoulder. Some of the store-fronts were already boarded up in preparation for the winter but there were still a number of choices. He wouldn't have minded an ice-cream. When they'd come down for a visit the month before, he'd ended up having a particularly delicious, pistachio flavoured sundae from the custard shop, but after what he'd just said he couldn't possibly shame himself by asking for even anything close. His eyes wondered around a little more before settling on…

"What I want is a go on that."

Both Elizabeth and Peter followed the boy's finger as it pointed beyond the boardwalk shops, across to the towering, old style wooden roller coaster.

"You want to go on the Cyclone?" Elizabeth raised her brows.

"Yeah. I do. Is that not allowed? Is my choice restricted to one of the crappy food selections that are offer?"

"No," Peter shrugged. "If you want to go for a ride on the Cyclone instead of an ice-cream, then that's your choice."

"Wow!" Eric smiled sarcastically. "You've finally decided I'm old enough to make a choice. It's an epic moment, we should all take a photo."

"Why don't you," Elizabeth spoke quickly before her husband could react, "go tell Scottie he's go to start packing up in five."

"Fine," Eric sighed as he jumped off the boardwalk and onto the sand, following the trail his sandals had made on all the prior passings. "Hey squirt," he announced at he approached the little boy, "you've got five minutes and then I'm smashing that thing into oblivion."

Scottie looked up from under his ridiculously oversized floppy hat and looked glum, "Use can mash it, Air-wick. It nots berry good." He upended the bucket he'd been filling and a small pile of sand was revealed when he pulled the bucket away. "Sees. It nots good."

Eric dropped down onto his knees and took the bucket from the little guy's hand. "It isn't working, squirt cause you are using dry sand. If you're going to make anything half decent, you need to use wet sand. Look," Eric began scooping out a deep hole in the sand until he reached the damper levels, "see down here?"

Scottie nodded.

"Well, this is the sand you need to use." He passed the bucket back. "Fill it up with this stuff."

Scottie picked up his little blue shovel and dug it into the sand.

"No," Eric took the shovel and tossed it off to the side. "Only amateurs use a shovel. Men like us, we use our hands. Plus, it's faster."

"Okays," Scottie started to scoop the sand with his hand and soon had the bucket filled.

"Now, when you turn it over, squirt, you need to be fast. If you're too slow, the sand's gonna just all spill out and you'll have to start over. Got it?"

Scottie nodded then started tipping the bucket over as quickly as he could. Eric reached out and helped him for the last little bit when it looked like it was going to tip out of his tiny hands. Scottie started to pull the bucket up but Eric stopped him. "Wait. This is the part where you will need your shovel."

"Okays." Scottie reached behind and collect the shovel. "Whats for?"

Eric tapped the top of the bucket with his finger. "For any truly great sand castle, you need to tap the top of the bucket twice with your shovel. If you don't, when you pull the bucket off, it's just going to be a nothing but a pile of sand, so go ahead, tap."

Scottie tapped the top of the bucket as instructed then carefully pulled free the bucket. "Wows!" he exclaimed upon seeing his creation that had taken the perfect form of the sand bucket. "It just likes a castle."

"It will be as soon as you put a flag on it."

"A flags?"

"Yeah. You should know, every great castle needs a flag. Here," Eric passed over a little twig and watched on as Scottie stuck it into the top. "Perfect."

Scottie smiled happily. "Wets make anodder onse, Air-wick."

Eric checked the time before glancing up the beach to where Elizabeth and Peter were now standing. "No can do. We've gotta go now, see."

Scottie looked in the direction of the boardwalk and caught his dad beckoning with the two-finger point. "Arrr," he wined. "Cant's we make just ones morw?"

"Nuh uh. Come on, get your things before Peter decides you're taking too long and comes down here to get you himself."

Scottie clambered to his feet and brushed the sand from his shorts. "I is coming."

"Good decision," Eric did his best Peter impersonation voice and both boys laughed. "You're mom said you could get an ice-cream."

"Yummy," Scottie cheered as he bundled up his bucket and spade. "I is gonna gets the ones uses gots last ime."

"Great," Eric grumbled while hoping that maybe at least he'd get to have a small taste of Scottie's.

As the boys started to move off towards the boardwalk, Scottie turned back and pointed at his castle. "Use cans mash it now, Air-wick."

Eric gazed over his shoulder and paused while he stared pensively at the small cylindrical creation with its evenly spaced turrets circling the top rim. For a moment, he contemplated the symbolism behind stamping on the little sand castle with his big, powerful foot but in the end decided that it wouldn't give him the satisfaction he so badly desired. "Nah, let's just leave it. Won't be long before the tide comes in anyways. After that, the castle, the flag and more importantly, all the tiny people who live there will be washed away into complete annihilation."

# # #

"One child ticket, please." Peter slid six dollars under the grill to the young male attendant.

The attendant's eyes dropped down to take in Eric, who was standing beside Peter. "How old is the child? Under twelves need to be accompanied by an adult."

"I'm fourteen…ignoramus. The only child around here is-"

"Eric," Peter warned with a stern finger. "Don't."

"Whatever," Eric grumbled as he continued to stare at the idiot behind the counter.

"He's eleven," Peter amended as he reached back into his pocket for his wallet. "I'll go with him."

The attendant made no further comment as he slid the change and the tickets back under the grill. Eric snatched them up and started to walk off before Peter had a chance but Peter soon grabbed the youngster's arm, spun him sideways and walloped him fair across his butt.

Eric's eyes immediately darted around to check if anyone had seen but fortunately the few people who were in the vicinity, seemed to be caught up in their own private little carryings on.

Peter waited till the boy's eyes trailed back and locked with his. "What have I told you about uncalled for snide remarks and insults?"

"Lots of things. So many in fact it's difficult to recall-"

"Eric," Peter warned, "do you need another swat on your backside to help you to remember?"

Eric's cheeks blushed as he checked around once more, this time to make sure no one had heard.

"Eric…" Peter prompted impatiently.

"If you haven't got anything nice to say," Eric ground out between clenched teeth, "don't say anything at all."

"Nothing at all, Eric. If you can't possibly think of anything decent to say, keep your lips pressed together and just smile nicely."

"M mm m mm mmm."

Peter pursed his own lips and glared at the cheeky young brat while deciding if he shouldn't simply pull the boy across his hip and deliver another round of well-deserved spanks.

"What?" Eric looked up with those same piercing blue eyes that Neal had always resorted to when he was trying to act all innocent even after it was evident he was as guilty as all hell.

"One more-"

"Have you already been on and we missed you?" Elizabeth appeared holding Scottie's shoulder with one hand and an ice-cream sundae in the other.

"No, you didn't miss us, we haven't been on yet."

"We?" Elizabeth smiled at her husband. "You're going on it too?"

"Yeah-"

"Babies like myself have to be 'accompanied by an adult.'"

Elizabeth ignored the sarcastic explanation and nodded towards the closest bench seat. "I'm just going to sit over there with Scott-Allen before one of us ends up with ice-cream all down our fronts."

"That sounds like a good idea," Peter indicated the handful Elizabeth was struggling to clasp. "You sure you got a big enough sundae?"

Elizabeth laughed, "I asked for a large so you and I could share it but I think the lady misheard and gave me some absurdly enormous family-sized bucket."

Peter chuckled too as he lead his young charge in the direction of the Cyclone entrance. "In that case, there better be some left for me when I get back."

Because it was later in the day and fairly quite due to the cooler weather, Peter and Eric had the coaster all to themselves and got to sit in the front seat. Eric had never been on a wooden coaster before and he was fascinated by the seemingly archaic operations of releasing the coaster through the operator pulling back a large wooden leaver. As the coaster rounded the bottom and began its ascent, Eric hoped that at some point along the way, the maintenance people had upgraded the wheels and track system enough so they didn't go flying off at the first sharp bend. He glanced across at Peter to see if he appeared concerned but the guy seemed to be relaxed enough to be twisting his body around to see if he could spot the other two watching from their bench vantage point.

"You okay?" Peter asked of his companion without taking his eyes away from scanning the area below.

"Yeah, of course, but what about you? If you're gonna pee your pants or something can you give me a warning first so I can scoot over some more."

Peter turned back enough so he could roll his eyes at the kid. "The reason I asked was because we've been down here what, three other times in the past couple of months and each time I asked you if you wanted to have a ride and each time you came up with a reason why you couldn't."

"Maybe those reasons were justified."

"Or maybe you were just a little nervous about coming on it?"

"Obviously not." Eric lifted his hands, palms up. "See?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded, "I see."

The coaster completed its ascent and without being able to help himself, Eric went, "Oh, wow!" when he saw the view from the top.

Peter smiled, "Pretty amazing, isn't it? I never lose that feeling of being on top of the world when the Cyclone makes it up to this point."

"You've been on this before?" Eric was genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, of course. We live less than a ten minute drive from here. Of course I've been on it beeeeeeefffoooooooorrreee." Peter's words were left behind as the coaster screamed down its first descent and spun around the bend before shooting back up again.

Eric cheered and laughed loudly as he tried to keep his hands in the air and Peter laughed too. But not because he was also having just as much fun, but because in the six months he'd been tasked with caring for the troubled youngster, it was the first time he'd ever heard him laugh.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey C!" Eric beckoned his friend over as soon as he spotted him walking into the cafeteria. He'd been keeping a watchful eye on the doorway, anxious to find out how it had all gone and more importantly, to get his hands on and have a play of the new toy. He hadn't seen Carl since they parted ways before the weekend and owing to them both having separate classes at opposite ends of the campus on Monday mornings, it was usually lunch time before they caught up. They'd already decided that they shouldn't run the risk of texting each other about the purchase, on the off chance that someone, namely Agent Burke, began an investigation into what had transpired if he ever caught wind of the fact that some money had gone missing from the cafeteria.

"Hey E," Carl grinned from ear to ear as he slid into the seat opposite his friend. "You have a good weekend?"

"Forget my mind-numbing weekend," he held out his hand, "let me see it!"

Carl rummaged through his bag and pulled out a small black neoprene case, which he passed over.

Eric took it carefully, like it was some rare, fragile artefact. "What's it like?"

"Better than we even thought."

Eric looked up dubious, "Better than seeing Kalee Bassingwaite without her top on?"

"Better than seeing Kalee Bassingwaite completely naked!"

"Uwwww!" Eric screwed up his nose. "I'm not sure I want to see what it's like down there!"

"Well, either way, this is far better my friend. Go ahead and take it out."

"How did you manage it?" Eric asked as he proceeded to remove the electronic device from its case.

"Easy. I told Dad that I had some money saved up and Mom had promised to take me to the store through the week to buy it but she had been too busy with her friends and she said she would try and take me sometime after the weekend."

"And he bought it?"

"Yeah. The minute he thought he had a chance to make Mom look bad, he had his jacket on and keys in his hand."

"Too easy!" Eric laughed. "So which button do I-"

_'Attention teachers and students…Mister Eric Hunter report to the Headmaster's Office…Mister Eric Hunter… thank you.'_

Both boys froze as they listened intently to the message come over the loud speaker.

"You don't suppose…"

"Nah," Eric shrugged. "You know me and Mack Q? Him and I are great pals and he's probably thinking, oh, Eric hasn't stopped by for a chat for a little while…Phyllis, give my best bud a call over the speaker for me!"

Carl smiled but didn't laugh. He leaned across the table and whispered, "This could be serious, E. Maybe somehow they worked out it was us."

"There's no way, C. We covered everything. Maybe they are just making their way through interviewing all the usual suspects. I imagine its just routine."

"Yeah, okay."

"Now remember what we talked about?" Eric's voice took on its own tone of seriousness, "No matter what they say to you, no matter what they say that I said, deny everything. If they sense something's not right, they'll try and trick you in to giving up what happened. Don't let them."

Carl nodded but still wore a most concerned expression. "Good luck, man."

"Thanks…and," he indicated the NaNOT3, "best put that out of sight."

# # #

"Eric Hunter," Eric announced as he stepped up to the office front counter. Not that Phyllis, the woman behind the counter didn't know who it was already – he'd been called to the Headmaster's office enough times to warrant a loyalty card.

"Mister Hunter," the craggy old bag crowed. "Headmaster McCuen will see you now. Knock and then wait."

_Well, of course he will see me now! You called me, you muttonhead!_ Eric glared at the witch hoping she could sense his thoughts as he walked across to the door and knocked.

He didn't have to wait long. _'Come in!'_

Eric sighed painfully and stepped into the office, remembering to shut the door behind him as per the instructions issued during prior visits. "You wanted to see me, Mister Cu-" Eric stopped short as his eyes focused on not the headmaster, but the unforeseen presence sitting in the visitor's chair… "Peter?"

"Eric," the headmaster called for the boy's attention before explaining, "I asked Mister Burke to come in to discuss some evidence that has come to light."

_Evidence!_ Eric gulped. They'd been so careful. There couldn't possibly be anything to implicate either of them. This had to be a bluff. "I'm not sure I understand, Sir?" He turned back to Peter and raised his eyebrows by way of saying, 'Do you know what he's talking about?'

But Peter wasn't playing into it. He'd had enough experience over the years, particularly with this one's father, to know all the games. Instead, he sat back silently and waited for the headmaster to take the lead…

"I'm talking about the money that was taken from the register in the cafeteria during recess on Friday."

Eric shrugged, "I hadn't heard. No one said anything to me about it." It was true. The students weren't kept in the loop about affairs of the school that were none of their business. As far as Eric would have guessed, the administration would want to keep the theft of nearly $500 on the quiet so firstly they didn't look like a bunch of incompetent fools, and secondly, so other students didn't get any bright ideas.

"No, I imagine you wouldn't have." The headmaster began typing something on his keyboard and then spun the monitor so it was facing towards Eric. "You also probably didn't hear that last year, we had a student who claimed to hand over a twenty dollar bill when he paid for his lunch, when in actual fact he had only handed over a five. When he received his change, he accused the register operator of short changing him and there was a whole lot of legal matters that came about and well…long story short, the school admin decided in order to prevent such an event happening again, we would install a camera in the vents above the register."

Eric felt the colour draining from his face and there wasn't anything he could do about it. He forced himself to look at the monitor as it came to life with the register from a bird's eye view. "I'm sorry, Sir," Eric challenged, "but I believe it's illegal to have a concealed camera in operation without signage to publicize its presence."

"Unless," Peter spoke up for the first time and clarified, "it's stated in writing somewhere that the patrons have signed, saying they accept and understand. In this case, both you and your father signed your enrolment forms, which on page eight covered information pertaining to the cafeteria camera."

"Oh," was all Eric could manage. What he really wanted to say was, 'Fuck!' but he doubted either man would let that pass without some type of serious consequence. With the legal loophole blasted out of the water by the agent's friggen flawless legal knowledge, Eric's only hope was that a lifeline may present itself in the video footage. His eyes became fixed to the screen as he watched some money being passed back to a student, and then there was a long pause, followed by the lady locking the drawer and moving off camera…and then a boy darted in and took her place. He was wearing black gloves and used what appeared to be a thin metal prong to open the drawer. The boy scooped out the cash, shut the drawer and darted off camera once more. Eric's eyes raced to meet the headmaster's. "Who was that kid? I think I may have seen him in my history class but there's so many boys here with that dark, wavy hair, it's difficult to tell."

"Mister McCuen, may I have a word with Eric in private, please?"

"Certainly. I'll wait outside. Let me know when you are ready."

Peter waited till the headmaster shut the door behind him then reached out and pulled Eric over so the kid was standing between his knees. It was all Eric could do, not to roll his eyes. "This is so typical, Peter," he pre-empted. "You have a reputation so every time something happens like this, you're the first to get blamed and held responsible."

"You're being held responsible because you are."

"You saw," Eric indicated the monitor over his shoulder. "It's impossible to ID the kid." To support his case, Eric tilted his head forward so Peter could see the top of it. Half the boys here fit that descript-"

"Eric," Peter took the boy's chin and tilted it back up. "Stop lying to me. You're just making it worse. I can see quite clearly that's you on the screen. The headmaster picked it was you right away. There's no question of doubt."

"It could be any-"

"Don't. I asked the headmaster to wait outside so you could tell me why you did it and help you sort it out but if you're going to continue lying to me, I'm going to tell him to come back in and deal with you however he sees fit."

"Either way, I'm going to get my ass chewed out."

"For stealing, yes. No need to add lying to your poor choice of behaviours. Why did you take the money, Eric?"

Eric considered. He could continue playing the innocent card but no doubt Peter and the headmaster would continue to scour the video until they discovered some incriminating stain on his uniform shirt or a matching hairline to nose ratio, and then they'd be really pissed off that they had to spend so much time on it. Plus, at some point they'd connect the dots and bring Carl in for questioning and if his parents got a phone call about the theft it may come out that Carl was in the possession of a large sum of money over the weekend. It wouldn't bode well for either of them.

"Eric?" Peter repeated. "Why?"

"I…I don't know. It seemed like an easy target at the time and when I got to the register and the lady ran off, I just got caught up in the moment."

"Enough!" Peter reached behind the boy and whacked him hard across his butt. "You had a burner phone, a lock pick and gloves. This was premeditated. You tell me one more lie and I will borrow the headmaster's paddle myself!"

Eric swallowed hard. This wasn't turning out in any way he expected it to go. He always had back up plans but this time they were failing him at every turn.

"The truth, Eric."

"I…wanted to buy myself an electric scooter like the one Danny Marshall has across the road. I'd asked Elizabeth but she just told me that maybe I could ask for one for Christmas. I was pretty annoyed about that so I figured I'd…"

"Steal the money?"

Eric nodded.

Peter sighed deeply. "Okay…So where did you put the money?"

"When I came home on Friday, I had time to think more clearly and I realised that I'd never be able to get away with keeping a scooter without one of you noticing-"

"Ya think?" Peter couldn't resist the sarcasm.

"Yeah, and I did consider leaving it with Danny and just borrowing it but it all became too complicated so I panicked, ran down the block, across to the shops and dumped the money inside a bag in one of the trash cans out in the back alley."

Peter shut his eyes and shook his head, "Four hundred and eighty-six dollars."

_Four hundred and twenty-six._ He'd kept sixty for his troubles when he handed the cash over to Carl. "Yes."

"Well, you know that you are going to be paying that back in chores from now until the end of time?"

"Yeah, whatever." Eric wasn't too concerned about that. He would rather be doing something, no matter how menial, than stuck up in his room dying from boredom. He was more bothered about the other, more hands on consequence he was going to have to face.

"Okay, then let's see how the headmaster wants to handle this."

"With a bit of luck he'll want to expel me?" Eric asked hopefully as Peter stood up to open the door.

"You really want to hope he doesn't do that. The next stop for you my friend is, Shelby Academy."

Eric paled some more. There really was a worse case scenario than Barclay House!

"Mister McCuen," Peter started as the headmaster walked back around to his side of the table, "Eric has something he wants to say to you."

The headmaster sat down and waited expectantly.

"Eric…" Peter prompted.

"Uh…" Eric cleared his throat. "I…I'm sorry to report that yes, I was the one who stole the money from the cafeteria last Friday."

"And who else?"

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"Who helped you, Eric? I doubted you did this on your own."

"No. No, Sir. No one helped me. I acted alone."

Peter actually doubted that was the truth but seeing as how he believed the kid would have instigated the crime and certainly wouldn't have been forced into it, it only mattered to him that Eric be held accountable. "Mister McCuen. Eric is taking full responsibility for this. I will reimburse the school and of course take measures to punish him accordingly when we go home."

Eric's face flushed with embarrassment. It was bad enough everyone knowing what was going to happen, it didn't need to be spoken out loud.

"Thank you, Mister Burke. Of course, the school has it's own procedures to follow in cases like this, and because of his prior warnings, Eric will be suspended for one week…"

Peter nodded.

"…and receive four strokes of the paddle."

Eric dropped his head, knowing full well that the paddle was going to factor into the punishment doled out by the headmaster at some point.

"Now, the paddle can be administered either now, before he leaves, or when he gets back from his suspension."

"Later." Eric was quick to choose.

"Now." Peter overruled.

"But-"

"Nope. You lost all rights to making choices for yourself when you chose to steal from the school. Mister McCuen. He'll take the paddling now."

"Okay then." The headmaster pushed up from his seat and went across to the side cabinet. He opened the locked door and retrieved, what was becoming an all too familiar, heavy wooden school paddle. He tapped the top of his table with the edge of the wood. "Over you go, Mister Hunter."

"But…" Eric shot a sideways glance at Peter and stopped short from saying, 'Not in front of him.'

But Peter wasn't going anywhere. He simply crossed his arms to indicate he was going to sit this one through.

Eric pressed his lips together accepting it was a lost cause and stepped forward to the cleared space on the desk. He bent forward and rested his head between his crossed arms. He felt the paddle come to rest on the seat of his trousers then, _Whack!_ Eric squeezed his hands as tight as he could and braced himself for the next, _Whack!_ This time, a rush of air escaped his lungs and a little squeal that was embarrassingly undignified came out before he could prevent it. _Whack!_ His ass was throbbing something shocking and there was still one more to go. If Peter hadn't been sitting there, ready to hold him down, he may have considered trying to make a break for the door but it was too late anyway. _Whack!_ He bit down on his lip and tried to ride out the pain as water filled the corners of his eyes. He couldn't let them see him like this. He wiped his sleeve discreetly across his face, hoping it would collect any evidence of his distress and then pushed himself up off the desk. His gaze stayed fixed to the floor and he folded his arms so he wasn't tempted to rub at the burning emanating from his rear.

"Okay Mister Hunter. In one week you will resume school as usual and in the meantime, I will instruct your teachers to send homework for you to complete in your absence. And I trust that when you return next Monday, you will be a model student displaying outstanding behaviour at all times."

"Yes, Sir," Eric mumbled without looking up.

"Thank you for your time, Mister Burke."

"Thank you, Mister McCuen." Peter led the way out of the office knowing that Eric would follow suit. In his peripheral, he could see from the way the kid was shuffling along, it was hurting. He wanted to put an arm around the boy and offer a shoulder to cry on but he knew Eric would just brush it off so instead he took the bag off the kid and carried it for him. They didn't say anything on the way back to the car and they both remained silent during the short trip back to the house. When they arrived home, Eric shot out of the car and had disappeared up the stairs, long before Peter made it into the house. At some point Peter would have to deal with Eric's stealing and disposing of five hundred dollars but he wasn't in any state to do that right now and neither was Eric.


	9. Chapter 9

We've had a few interested inquiries about Scottie's speech so we thought we'd just mention that he is modeled on a little five and a half year old cutie I see every day. The way he forms his sentences is what I hear in my head when I think of Scottie. But the little cutie isn't sui generis. Children develop at different rates and speech is one area where delays are common place. Children with speech delays don't necessarily have language delays. They can understand words and sentences as well as the next child, they just have difficulty pronouncing the correct sounds in the words, which leads to their speech being difficult to understand. In other words, the other developmental milestones can be met at the usual times even if the speech is delayed. Having said that, early intervention is paramount and I would have to believe that Elizabeth and Peter take little Scottie to weekly speech theraphy sessions and have told Eric to speak normally to the little guy as he will continue to learn the correct grammatical speech patterns from the language he is exposed to. But seeing as how the story is about Eric, we will have to leave that for another day :)

Eric lay face down on the bed, one arm dangling over the side, his fingers picking at the loop pile of the plush indigo coloured carpet. So far he'd managed to accumulate a small handful of the wool strands that he'd plucked free from the binding mat and he figured if he kept going, at some point he'd amass enough to fill a pillow for his bed. Not that he needed another pillow – when he'd first come to stay with the Burkes, Elizabeth had taken him out shopping a number of times for anything he needed, including trying out a variety of pillows till he found one that felt just right. He tugged another loop free and added it to the others, not caring that Elizabeth would tan his hide if she caught him doing what he was doing. Well, he probably would care…a lot. Even though his backside had stopped throbbing, it remained seriously tender and it would not be at all pleasant to get whacked again so soon. With that sensible recommendation mulling over in his head, he reached out a little further and grabbed a hold of the decorative rug, which he pulled over to conceal the small crater he'd created in the carpet. Elizabeth didn't smack very often, she mostly left that up to Peter, but on the couple of occasions she had swatted his backside for 'teaching Scott-Allen bad habits,' it had hurt!

Since arriving home, Elizabeth had been up once to deliver a plate of sandwiches, but apart from that, everyone had left him alone – including the squirt. They must have put some type of barricade at the bottom of the stairs because it was the longest the little guy had ever gone without coming up to pester him about something. Eric had been able to hear what sounded like hushed voices before the agent had departed for work again. It had come as quite a relief as he watched from his bedroom window, the Taurus driving off down the street because he was certain the old man was going to be hot on his heels, up the stairs, waving a big stick. But now, unfortunately, it appeared all FBI business was over for the day because Peter was back home and Eric understood implicitly at some point, a 'conversation' would be had regarding the stealing.

As a distraction, he started playing with the lights on his watch and tried to concentrate on the smells and sounds of dinner being prepared that were waffling up from downstairs and not on the impending consequences for his behaviour. He couldn't work out if Elizabeth was making cottage pie or a slow-cooked beef, but either way, he wished it was ready cause he was starved. The sandwiches that had filled his belly earlier had long since been digested into his system and he was ready for more.

"Air-wick!"

Eric heard the little pip-squeak's voice before he registered the pitter-patter footsteps approaching his doorway. He rolled onto his side and up onto his elbow, preparing to demonstrate just how careless and unbothered he was.

"Air-wick," the little boy smiled as he came into the room. "Momma says dinner weady."

"Did she now?"

Scottie nodded as he hopped up and landed on the end of the bed.

"Well, you can tell her that she can take her toxic smelling food and shove it…" Eric trailed off, realising just how disgusting his words sounded as they spilled out of his mouth.

"Okays," Scottie scooted off the bed and skipped towards the door.

Eric sprung off the bed himself and snagged a hold of the little one's arm. "Wait!" he spun Scottie around and smiled like everything was okay. "Never mind. I've changed my mind. No need to tell her anything. I'm coming down."

"Okays," Scottie smiled back before leading the way down the stairs.

# # #

"How was the cheesecake?" Elizabeth asked of everyone as she whisked the empty bowls away and stacked them in a neat pile beside the other dishes.

"Perfectly superb, hon," Peter declared as he wiped his chin with a napkin.

"Yummy momma. Cans I hab mowr?"

"No little one, you already had a big helping. You'll get a sick tummy if you have any more. How about you, Eric? Did you like that type? I found the recipe in one of my old cooking journals."

"It was okay. I don't know about combining the brownie mixture with a cheesecake recipe. I'd kind of think you'd have one or the other, not both together."

"Well that solves that. There were only two pieces left for tomorrow night so now I don't have to worry how I'm going to share it out. You and I can have ice-cream, kiddo."

"Fine," Eric grumbled. The cheesecake had been deliciously scrumptious and now he was going to miss out on having that last piece he'd been eying off. No doubt he'd been set up so it worked out that way.

"Scott-Allen," Peter lifted his son down off his chair and pointed him towards the living area. "Why don't you go and keep puppy company for a little bit?"

"Use nots weading to me?"

"Not yet. We'll go up in a little bit. Momma and I need to have a chat with Eric."

Scottie looked across with concern at Eric but the older boy dropped his gaze and pretended to study something in his lap. "Okays, Dadda," he accepted before trotting off to play with the Labrador.

"Eric," Peter returned his attention to the table. "We need to discuss you actions on Friday."

"You mean at breakfast how I swapped the salt and sugar lids over. It was a joke and I'm sorry."

Peter bit his lip and took a deep calming breath.

"We're not talking about that, Eric," Elizabeth's tone took on a quiet seriousness, "and you know it. Please don't make this anymore difficult by going on with nonsense."

"Like it's not difficult already? What do you want me to say, Elizabeth? I already admitted to stealing the money."

"I suppose Peter and I would like to know why?"

"And," Eric sighed with mock boredom, "I already confessed to that as well…the scooter ring any bells?"

"If you're going to start being disrespectful to Elizabeth," Peter pointed a warning finger, "I will turn you over my knee so fast, your head will spin. Do I make myself clear?"

Eric mumbled a barely audible response.

"I didn't hear you."

"I said, yes…sir."

"Good, now what Elizabeth and I would like to know is why you felt so…badly done by that Elizabeth wasn't going to buy you the scooter immediately, that you felt it was justifiable that you simply take the money."

Eric sighed and slumped down in his seat, but not before shrugging his shoulders.

"It's not what people do, Eric. They don't think well, I can't have that but I'll go and steal it anyway."

Eric sat forward in his seat and spat out, "It's what my father would do. I guess the apple didn't fall far from the tree this time."

Peter sighed inwardly and he imagined Elizabeth was doing the same. Eric never referred to Neal as his father unless he was in some way able to hold him accountable for his less desirable actions. It was a losing battle. There'd be no getting the kid to admit to it being a choice on his part and having nothing to do with genetics at this point. "Okay, Eric. Whatever your motivation, you shouldn't have done it."

"No kidding."

"No, I'm not. Now, tomorrow you'll be home with Elizabeth and June has offered to look after you on Wednesday and Thursday. I'll take you to the office with me on Friday."

Eric groaned, "Seriously? Can't I just stay here on Wednesday and Thursday?" He'd only met Neal's landlady a couple of times but she seemed way too serious. "I don't need to be looked after like a baby."

"Apparently you do, otherwise you'd be at school like all the other children your age."

"Whatever."

"Tomorrow morning," Elizabeth explained, "you can do what you need to do for school, but after lunch, I'm going to get you to do the washing and folding and the bathrooms will need cleaning out."

"Great for you guys, free slave labour."

"Not free," Peter reminded the boy. "This ones costing us about five hundred dollars if you remember correctly?"

Eric remained silent rather than implicate himself.

"And on Saturday afternoon," Peter continued, "you are going to help me scrub the pavers out the back."

"Awesome," Eric replied sarcastically, then his eyes brightened, "Because I'm going to be spending the day with Lady Cheerypants, does that mean I get to skip my session with Doctor Patrick on Wednesday evening?"

"No," Peter happily informed the boy. "I'll collect you from June's and take you directly from there."

"Faaaaantastic. Can I go to my room now or is the lecture still in progress?" Eric began to push to his feet but Peter pointed him back down.

"No," he paused while he waited for the boy to settle back into his chair. "What did I tell the last time you took money from my wallet?"

Eric shrugged, "Don't do it again."

"And…"

"And if I wanted or needed something I had to ask for it, which I did!" he hastened to add.

"I told you it was wrong to steal and if you did it again, I would…"

"But the headmaster already punished me for stealing! Remember? You were there right?"

"Yes I was, and you heard me telling the headmaster that I would take measures to punish you accordingly at home. You were there right?"

"And isn't that what you just did, telling me I'm going to have the most excruciatingly boring week from hell?"

"That's simply to keep you busy and out of trouble because you're not allowed to go to school and the chores are to start paying back the money…neither of which are punishment for the stealing."

Eric started to panic a little – he didn't want, didn't need another butt tanning. "This isn't fair."

"I understand," Peter offered, "that you are still getting over today's paddling so I'm going to wait until Sunday night to give you the spanking I promised you if you ever stole again."

"You're going to make me wait a whole week? Isn't that considered to be cruel and unusual punishment?"

"How long before, did you plan to steal the money from the cafeteria? About a week? I think it'll do you good to have this on your mind for a week, and maybe next time you premeditate some inappropriate action or behaviour, you may recall how it felt to be waiting for the consequences."

"It's not fair," Eric repeated, this time with signs of a thin layer of moisture wetting his eyes.

"If you really think so, you can head up to your room now and I can take care of your punishment tonight?"

Eric considered. That idea sucked even worse than the other one. He shook his head.

"Okay then, you go up and have a shower. I'm going to help Elizabeth with the dishes and then I'll be up to read to both you boys."

Eric checked the time on his watch. It was still early."I don't want to listen to some stupid baby story."

"Suit yourself. You can listen to your music instead."

"Fine," Eric grouched as he made his was through the living room. He always missed out when the story got to the good part.


	10. Chapter 10

"How was school?"

"I don't have school this week."

"Why not?"

"Time off for good behaviour," Eric claimed proudly.

"Is that right?"

"Nope, but you already know why I'm not at school so I just thought since we were doing a dance, I could have some fun too."

The doctor took in a deep breath and released it through his nose before responding with, "Contrary to what you may believe, Peter and Elizabeth do not report to me on everything you do."

"Of course they do."

"No…they don't. They would only have the need to tell me if they became concerned enough that you were going to do something that would put yourself in harm's way, and that's not happened."

"So, why am I having to come? They haven't reported anything to you," he put his hands on his chest, "and look, I obviously haven't put myself in 'harm's way.' How come I still have to suffer through this every week?"

The doctor paused a few moments before asking his own question, "Why do you think you still need to come?"

"I'm not the one they're paying the big bucks to, Doctor. You tell me."

"You still need to come because you continue to be…troubled, for want of a better word, by a number of issues."

"What a friggen load of crock. _Contrary to what you may believe_, Peter and Elizabeth don't know shit. I'm fine, there is nothing troubling me and I think the only reason they force me to come here is so they can have one hour of p and q every Wednesday evening without my face reminding them that they were burdened with a kid they would rather have nothing to do with, and have only taken me in because they feel sorry for their buddy, Neal."

"Is that what you believe?"

"If I say, 'No, I made it all up, Peter and Elizabeth are the nicest parents in the world and I love living there,' will I have to come back next week?"

"Yes, you will."

"Why?"

"Why don't you have school this week?"

"Oh, for shit's sake! What do you care?"

"I'm paid the big bucks to care. Why weren't you at school?"

"Because I punched a kid in the face and went and got myself suspended."

"Why did you punch him?"

"He was pissing me off."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know, how the hell am I supposed to remember something that happened days ago – it's not like I wrote it all down."

"What did Peter and Elizabeth have to say about you being in a school yard fight and getting yourself suspended?"

"They said the punk must have deserved what he got."

"If he deserved it, why did you get suspended? Did the other boy start it?"

"Yes, of course he started it. He was jabbering on, I got sick of listening to him, I punched him. I don't go around picking fights with other kids. I have better things to do."

"Like what?"

"Like…you know…" Eric shrugged, "Who cares."

"What did your dad say?"

"Who, Neal?"

The doctor nodded.

"Dunno. I haven't seen him since but no doubt Peter has already snitched on me."

"Does Peter do that? Does he report to Neal on everything you do?"

"Pretty much."

"Why do you think he does that?"

"Cause he's so friggen Miss Goody Two Shoes? Perfect Peter does everything by the book."

"What about your dad? What do you think he is going to say when he finds out you've been in a fight?"

"Who, Neal?"

The doctor nodded.

Eric shrugged and crossed his arms for good measure, but not before checking the time on his watch. "What do I care what he says."

"Well, since Peter is going to report it to your dad anyway, when you do talk to him, might I suggest skipping the whole school yard fight story, as dramatic as it may sound, and tell him the truth instead."

"What's that supposed to mean," Eric challenged.

"It means, that there is nothing to gain here by lying. I've told you before that everything you say to me is confidential and stays in this room."

"Like, if I tell you where Mom is," Eric scoffed, "you won't go running to the FEDS to collect your reward money?"

"There's no bounty set against your mom."

"Now you're lying, Doctor. Both you and I know, there's always some kind of reward for the snitches."

"If you say so, Eric." The doctor scribbled a note in his book then looked up, "So where is your mom?"

"Like I'd tell you," Eric mumbled under his breath as his eyes were drawn once more to the time on his watch. After a long stretch of silence, he lifted his chin boldly and declared, "Anyways, what does it matter where she is, she's coming back soon to get me and then you'll never have to be bothered with us again."


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm not going!"

"Yes you are, and don't even think about taking that tone with me, mister."

"What tone? This tone?"

Peter pressed his lips together and directed the young insolent brat with a warning glare. "Go get yourself ready. We are leaving here in ten minutes."

"No."

"Eric…"

"No." Said insolent brat dug his heals in and remained planted on the couch in his sweats, tee shirt and bare feet, clearly not intending to alter from his current course any time soon. "I've had a crappy week – First I got my butt pulverized by the chief executioner, then I was stuck hanging out with a bunch of friggen oldies every day, I had to suffer through another wasted hour with Doctor Phil and all the times in between I've been doing chores till my fingers bled!"

"You done?"

"No. If you think after all that I'm going to turn around and spend my Saturday morning playing happy families, then you are seriously more senile than I gave you credit for."

Peter's plan had backfired. Rather than the kid stewing throughout the week about the looming punishment and displaying some semblance of remorse in the hopes his sentence might be commuted, Eric had done the exact opposite. He'd taken the whole thing as a free pass to act out like a complete brat, figuring if he was going to be punished at the end of the week anyway, he may as well go and make it worth his while. Parenting a pre-pubescent sure as hell had a steep learning curve! Peter glanced over his shoulder at Elizabeth, who was sitting at the table helping Scottie with his kindy show-and-tell project, but all she could offer was a sympathetic half smile. He turned back to the boy and pointed towards the stairs, "Go to your room."

Not, 'Go to your room and come back as soon as you're ready,' just, 'Go to your room.' Eric became suddenly cautious, "Why?"

"You and I are going to have a long overdue discussion."

"Whatever." Eric pushed up from the couch as casually as he could without appearing panicked. "I'll get ready. What do I care if my morning sucks as much as the rest of the week? And don't worry - I'll be back down before the designated departure time."

"No."

"No? Yes? No? For crying out loud, make up your mind Peter."

Peter stepped forward but Eric was expecting a reaction and he jumped out of arm's reach and made a dash for the stairs. He bolted up three at a time and darted into his room, hoping like hell he could get dressed and be back downstairs before Peter decided to come up. He pulled open his top drawer and barely had his hands on his shirt when he heard his bedroom door click closed behind him. He didn't need to turn around to see it was Peter, but he did anyway.

"I'm getting dressed, do you mind."

"You can get dressed after," Peter strolled across the room and planted his butt on Eric's bed. He pointed to an invisible spot at his feet. "Right now, we have to talk."

_What a shock._ "Look, I'm sorry I acted up downstairs. You know I was just going on like I was cause I was frustrated. Hell, you'd be frustrated too if you'd had the week I'd had."

Peter's expression took on one of disbelief. "If I'd had the week you'd had? Not that I would ever have the week you have, because I wouldn't have made the decision to steal the money in the first place! But even if I had, I still wouldn't go on with the shameful display of disrespect that you've carried on with. Now, get your butt over here." The final statement was spoken in such an authoritive tone that Eric found himself moving to comply without hesitation. As soon as he was within reach, Peter took the boy's hands in his, and because he was sitting down, they were practically at eye to eye. "First of all, every week when we go to see your father, I have to go fifty rounds with you just to get you out the door. That's going to stop right now. We go every Saturday morning so stop acting all shocked and surprised when I tell you to get ready."

"Why should I have to go? I didn't do the crime but I'm being made to serve time every week just like one of the other inept inmates."

"You go because Neal is your dad and he has a right to see you."

"And I don't have a right to decide not to see him?"

"No."

"Well doesn't that just suit everyone just fine! Everyone gets everything they want unless your name is Eric Hunter." He twisted his arm to check the time but Peter manoeuvred his hand to cover it up.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Sometimes in life you have to do things you don't want to do. Not everything is going to be baseball and popcorn, Eric."

"Is that right? And here I thought there wasn't any more to life."

Peter didn't respond to the sarcasm and allowed the boy to continue.

"So what, you expect me to just go along happily and listen to him lecture me on right and wrong? I had to listen to it from Head Mack, you, Elizabeth, Doctor Patrick talked to me about my behaviour, even June made sure she got her two cents worth in…and now I have to go along and pay attention to dear old Dad scolding me on my poor choice of extra curricular activities. And I know he will cause I'm sure you've already told him that his son is a thief and a poor one at that, and no doubt he's got some key phrases prepared up his sleeve. Honestly," Eric shook his head as he continued to work himself up, "I can't for the life of me work out how he has the nerve to sit there and act all high and mighty after what he's done."

Peter took a moment to respond. He'd made a promise to Neal that he wouldn't tell the boy but this charade had gone on long enough. "Why do you think your dad is in prison?"

"Because he's a brainless, half-baked loser -" Eric startled as the swat connected hard with his rear. He tried to jump back but Peter still retained a hold of his left arm.

"Don't you ever talk about Neal like that again," Peter's finger was practically touching the end of the kid's nose. "Neal is a good man…and he's my friend. Any disrespect towards him will be dealt with the same severity as disrespect shown towards Elizabeth. Am I clear?"

Eric nodded.

"Excuse me?" Peter held a cupped hand up to his ear.

"Yes, sir."

"Now, listen very carefully to this, because I know you are very good at hearing only what you want to hear…the reason Neal is in prison serving out an eighteen month sentence is because he has strong principles, a good heart and because he cares deeply about you and your mother."

"That's not true!" Eric tried desperately to tug his hand free but Peter held tight. "Neal doesn't give a rat's ass about my mother. What would you know!"

"I know that Neal tried to help her out that night. He understood the consequences of his actions and even though he knew he would be implicated, he did it anyway cause that's the type of man he is."

"He wasn't there to help!"

"How would you know? Did your mom tell you otherwise?"

Eric clamed up. He hadn't spoken to his mom since, and what's more, Peter knew that he hadn't.

"Eric…" Peter softened his voice, "Your dad, he had time to get out, to save his own butt, but he didn't. He went back and that's why he's sitting in prison right now, serving out a misdemeanour felony, and until your mom comes forward and takes sole responsibility, that's the way it's going to stay."

"If that's true then, why didn't he just tell me?"

"It is true, Eric. What reason would I have to lie to you? As for why Neal didn't tell you himself, I guess you would have to ask him, but I'm thinking it would be mostly to do with him wanting to protect you."

"Protect me from what? I don't need protecting."

"Your dad cares a-"

"Would you stop calling him that!"

"Your dad," Peter ignored the request and proceeded, "cares about you a lot, Eric, and he would be prepared to do anything to make things easier for you, even if it resulted in you thinking the worst of him."

"Maybe I think the worst of him because he's never given me one good reason to think otherwise."

"Well…maybe it's time you allowed yourself to see that there are some good reasons out there."

"Whatever," the boy shrugged and tried once more to pull away as he twisted his arm enough to read the time on his watch. "Can I go now?"

"No," Peter stated plainly. "We have two more issue to chat about so don't be thinking this discussion will be over any time soon."

"Oh, wucking funderful…Owwwch!" Eric jumped up and down on the spot, using his free hand to rub at his butt. "What the hell was that for?"

"You know what for."

"What's number two?" Eric feigned excitement, "I can't wait to find out!"

"You living here."

Eric's fake smile dispersed immediately and some of the colour drained from his face. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting the second topic to have anything to do with his living arrangement. "What about it? You and Elizabeth been talking again and decided you've had enough of living with the brat and want to kick me out? And what, I'm supposed to be shocked-"

"Eric," Peter cut in, "Enough."

"Enough alright. I could care less and don't think this is news to me, either. I've heard you both talking."

"Talking?" Peter was genuinely confused. "Me and El? About what?"

"About you not wanting me here and trying to work out how best to get rid of me!"

"I've no idea where you get these absurd ideas from, Eric but I can tell you in all honesty, Elizabeth and I have never talked about getting rid of you."

"You're lying! I've heard you, from the top of the stairs when you've been sitting on the couch, I've seen you stop talking at the park when I get close and one night, when I went to use the bathroom, I heard you both talking in your room about how you didn't want me here."

"No, that's not true. We have never said those words or even thought those words." Peter searched his brain for something the kid may have overheard and taken to mean they didn't want him around. It could have been any one of a number of conversations – they would have only needed to mention his name and Eric would have twisted it in a way that he wanted to hear. "Whatever you think you heard, you misunderstood. Yes, Elizabeth and I have talked lots about you staying here because you give the impression, quite frequently I might add, that you would prefer to be someplace else, that you would be happier with an alternative arrangement. So of course we have discussed if there would be better options for you, but that was only ever with your best interest at heart."

"And of course it wouldn't hurt you guys any if I did pack up and go elsewhere."

Peter inhaled deeply and released a slow, calming breath before continuing. "Yes, Eric, it would hurt Elizabeth and I a good deal. It's my belief that your carryings on about the arrangements here – complaints about the cooking, the routines, school, school work, Elizabeth not being able to do any thing right, Scottie getting on your nerves, the chores you are forced to do – are all attention seeking behaviours and in actual fact, you quite like living here…" Peter held up his hand to stall the boy when he could see he was opening his mouth to contradict the statement… "But, if I'm wrong, which I don't think I am, then I need you to tell me. I need you to be grown up about it and say, 'Peter and Elizabeth, this isn't working out for me, I'd rather be somewhere else.'"

Eric stared into space, unsure what to say. He wasn't even sure what he thought in his head, how was he expected to put it into words, or make any kind of decision.

Peter continued, "If you do decide that you don't want to live here any more, you and I will work it out together until we come up with a place that you're happy with… But Eric, please know this with absolute certainty – Elizabeth and me, despite what you think you've overheard, we don't want you to leave. We both love you being here and even though we know you will probably move out at some point down the track, we don't look forward to that day and you know, it'll break Scott-Allen's heart when it does finally happen. All three of us love you very much."

Eric dropped his gaze to the floor and willed away the tears that were forming rapidly in the corners of his eyes.

"Kiddo," Peter lifted his chin again so he could look him in the eye, "For now, what's your decision?"

What could he say but, "I'll stay...for now."

"And I want you to as well. But as happy as I am to hear that, remember, any time you want things to change, we'll sit down and have a chat, okay?"

Eric nodded. "What's number three?" _Like he couldn't guess._

"We need to talk about the stealing."

"Didn't we talk about that already?"

"Yes, we have. So all we need to deal with now is your punishment for the stealing."

"But that's not until tomorrow night," Eric twisted his hand hoping to free it but it was like being caught in a vice.

"It was going to be tomorrow night, but I made an error in judgement."

Eric looked surprised.

"Yes, Eric, even parents make errors. Mine was believing that if I left your punishment till the end of the week, you would use the time to make amends and try and force me to reconsider my decision. Sadly though, it wasn't to be."

"The week's not over yet?" Eric tried.

"No, but the time for waiting is. I'm going to give you your spanking now."

"Well, I don't want it now."

Peter almost laughed, "Do you think you'll be wanting it tomorrow night?"

"I don't care about tomorrow night. I only care about now."

"Well, right now we are dealing with you stealing money from the school, so I'm glad you care."

"This isn't fair," Eric grumbled, accepting he was in a losing battle.

"It won't be fair to anyone if you go getting yourself a juvenile record because you don't know where the line is separating right from wrong."

"Neal knows where that line is and he crossed it lots of times. Can I help it if it's in my genes?"

"My boy," Peter shook his head slightly, "if you aspire to even half the man your father is, you'll be doing well."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you can keep using your dad all you want as an easy scapegoat, but by doing so, somewhere along the way his moral compass is going to start pointing you in the right direction."

"I have no idea what you are rabbling on about."

"In that case, let's get on with the business at hand."

"Uh, no, you misunderstood. I meant I'm happy to hear you rabbling on."

"I'm going to give you a choice."

"Wow! And here I thought I'd never hear those words come out of your mouth again?"

Peter pursed his lips. "You can either drop your pants and I'll give you your spanking on the bare, or you can keep em up and I'll use the hairbrush."

"I choose option c," Eric darted a glance over his shoulder at the door.

"Well, 'option c' is me removing my belt so I really don't think you want to go there."

Eric gulped audibly. "No, I really don't."

"So which is it?"

There really wasn't going to be an eleventh hour reprieve or the house accidently burning to the ground or even Peter being called out to an emergency fake credit card importing discovery. An unforeseen rescue was highly unlikely. "The brush," he eventually mumbled.

Peter nodded. "Go get me yours."

"Can't I get Elizabeth's?" _That way I can grab it from her room and keep running with no intention of ever stopping._

"You can if you want, but I'll be going with you to get it."

"Fine," Eric grouched. "I'll get mine."

"Good choice," Peter watched and waited for the boy to collect his brush from his top drawer.

He stood in front of Peter and handed over the evil instrument. "Is there any chance of a fourth option?"

"There are always more options, but none that you would like any better, trust me. Now over you go." Peter patted his knee and with one final despondent look, Eric leaned forward and fell across his lap. Peter pulled the boy in close against his hip and wrapped an arm securely over his back. He rested the brush against the boy's sweat pants. "Why are you getting this spanking, Eric?"

"Because I stole the money."

"And what did I tell you would happen if you stole again?"

"That I'd get this."

"Are you going to steal again?"

"No."

"I hope not," Peter said as much to himself as to the boy. "Twelve whacks, Eric." Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he lifted his arm and swung. Once, twice, three times. Eric twisted his body hard but it was no contest – he wasn't going anywhere. Peter brought down the hairbrush down another three times, all in quick succession. Eric used his hands to push up on the bed, figuring a new strategy was worth a shot but that didn't seem to get him anywhere either. Peter walloped again, and again and again, and this time, Eric didn't even attempt to break free. He just released all his muscles and flopped forward like a rag doll. In doing so, it was like a green light for all his emotions to come flooding forward and soon after, the tears turned into cries and as Peter brought the brush down a final three times, the cries turned into sobs and he wept his little heart out.

For the longest time, he lay across Peter's lap, sheading tears for so many reasons, only one of which was because of the smarting that continued to radiate from his backside. After a while, Peter lifted him up and pulled him against his chest. Eric rested the side of his head on the top of Peter's broad shoulders while he whimpered away the last of his tears.

When he figured the boy had pulled himself together enough, Peter asked, "Are we good?"

Eric nodded.

"No more stealing?"

Eric shook his head.

"And you want to stay around here, for at least a little while longer?"

More nodding.

"And maybe could say you like some of the cooking Elizabeth puts in front of you, even if it's string beans and broccoli?"

Eric shook his head and Peter chuckled.

"Okay, fair enough. But if it's chocolate cake?"

Eric nodded.

"Okay, sport," Peter patted the boy's back, "We better get ready and get a move on, or Neal will think we're not coming.

Eric lifted his head so he could look Peter in the eye, "Do I have to go?"

Peter gave the boy a mock piercing glare, knowing he was only half serious. "Yes, and the longer you take to get ready, the longer we will stay to make up for being late." He smiled with satisfaction as the boy righted himself and dashed across to the drawers, and then he left the room without needing to say another word.

# # #

"It's good to see you again."

"Mmm."

"How have you been?"

"Fine."

"Did you have a good week?"

"Yeah."

"I forgot to ask you last week, did you like the painting?"

"Uh, yeah, it was really good…thank you."

"You're welcome…Where did you put it?"

"I…hung it on bedroom wall."

"Yeah?" Neal wasn't even remotely convinced. He shrugged, "I thought since you liked boats and all…"

"Yeah, it's a great boat. Scottie likes it too."

Neal swallowed his disappointment and his pride in one giant gulp. "I hear you spent a couple of days with June?"

"Yep."

"What'd you two get up to?"

"Not a lot, listen," Eric glanced over his shoulder to make sure Peter had remained in the designated waiting zone, "Peter told me some stuff…"

"Like?"

"You will probably be getting out of here in six months."

"Hopefully," Neal smiled. "I'm trying to keep my nose clean and out of trouble and with a bit of luck they will reduce my sentence by six months."

"Is this your lead into my lecture regarding my behaviours this week…A cautionary tale and all?"

"No. Should it be?"

Eric shrugged. "It's about this time during our weekly get together that you start in on what I've been doing wrong - I just expected the same today."

"Sorry to disappoint. Do you need me to say something?"

"Of course not."

"Because I would have expected Peter had said everything that was needed to be said."

"He did."

"And I figured from the way you've been squirming on your seat ever since you got here that you've already been dealt an appropriate consequence for your actions?"

Eric blushed and forced himself still. "There was nothing appropriate about it. Peter whacked me at least a couple of dozen times with a hard hairbrush. I could barely stand up afterwards."

Neal didn't react, he merely rested his chin on his hand and smiled knowingly. "You forget, Eric, that I have known Peter for the better part of fifteen years and one of his leading character qualities is fairness."

"There was nothing fair about it, he really did whack me."

"Of that I have no doubt, as I have no doubt you deserved it. But I also trust that Peter doled out what he deemed a fitting retribution for your actions."

"I knew you'd take his side."

"Then why did you even try to get me to take yours?"

"I didn't…" Eric crossed his arms, checked the time on his watch and slumped on his seat. "What do I care what side you're on anyways."

"Eric…" Neal took a leaf out of his mentor's book and softened his tone, "No one is on anyone's side. We're all in this together…You started to ask me about when I hope to get out of here…was there a reason why?"

Eric shrugged and checked his watch once more.

"Eric…Why were you asking?"

"When you get out of here," he inquired in a voice barely above a whisper, "what's going to happen to me?"

"You mean, where will you be living?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm hoping that maybe you'll come to live with me."

"And what if I'm happy where I am? I've got lots of my stuff there now."

"That would be okay too, seeing as how I spent just as much time at Peter and El's place as I did at my own. Do you think that's something you'll want to do? Stay with the Burkes?"

"Dunno," Eric shrugged again. "I was only thinking of Scottie. He's only little and he probably wouldn't understand if I wasn't there any more."

"Yeah, I can imagine it would be very difficult for all of them."

"Maybe…" Eric glanced over his shoulder and gave the signal as he pushed to his feet. "Peter wants to have a chat with you. Maybe you and him can discuss more appropriate ways to deal with inappropriate behaviour? I don't see you getting your butt kicked in here for all the stuff you've done."

Neal bit his tongue and instead went with, "It was great seeing you again."

"Yeah," Eric mumbled and once again walked out without broaching the one conversation that neither of them were prepared to initiate…but it was a can of worms that was going to be tipped over sooner or later.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N** I hope you are all having as much fun with the mystery 'guest' reviewer as we are – you know the one that said the story is boring, has called us dumb assess and thinks Peter's character is an abusive jerk? While we were having a good laugh, we couldn't help to wonder about this person who's soooo sadly mixed up, that even after twelve chapters, they're still reading it! Anyway, we think we've narrowed it down to either A) they've been banned from burning books by the local fire department (too many spot fires) and they've taken to the twenty-first century equivalent or B) they're a closet spanking fan but are so ashamed that they are enjoying it, they drop flames every other chapter to appease their guilt. Either way, you have to feel sorry for them…It's been twelve chapters! :)

And we couldn't let the other anon think they're off the hook, so here's a teeny bit of advice…if you want to 'critique' someone's story, you can't possibly be expected to be taken seriously if you don't even feel strong enough in your conviction to sign off with your name. Dare we suggest you go so far as to leave a username so an actual adult conversation be had on the subject that is bothering you, least it lead everyone to the fact that you've never tried writing anything in your life…on second thoughts, best that you don't :)

###

"How much longer?" Eric checked the time on his watch before stuffing more popcorn into his mouth.

"Well, we are now in the fifth innings and the game has nine, so I'm sure you can pretty easily work out the math on that one."

"Can't they just get to a certain number of runs and declare one team the winner?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Cause that's not how baseball is played."

"Seems to me like it'd be a whole lot more efficient."

"People don't play or watch baseball for efficiency. If they wanted efficiency, they'd go on a vacation to Japan."

"Why Mister Seriously Straight," Eric turned in his seat to issue Peter a cheeky grin, "did you just crack a joke?"

"Maybe."

"And here I thought you catching one of those balls that sometimes gets hit into the crowd would be the most impossible thing you could achieve today."

"It still would."

"Nah…You cracking a joke tops that."

"Watch the game," Peter nodded his head towards the field. "Andrews is about to strike this guy out."

"Well, I wouldn't want to miss that," Eric slumped back in his seat and resumed feasting on the small trashcan-sized popcorn bucket on his lap. After a minute of silent munching he announced, "I'm thirsty."

"Me toos," Scottie sat forward and looked up at his dad.

"Well, what a shock. Between the two of you, you have pretty much devoured that entire bucket of salt."

"Here," Elizabeth reached down and began rummaging through her bag. "I have your water bottles."

Eric screwed his nose up, "I'm too thirsty for water. I was thinking more along the lines of a soda?"

Peter scrutinized the youngster before sighing in resignation and reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "Okay, but not the large size - just the regular one. I don't want us having to make a pit stop at every subway station on the way home."

Eric stood up and held out his hand for the cash, "As if that's gonna happen."

"I wants one too," Scottie stood up also.

"Well," Peter directed the smaller boy with his disapproval face, "that's not how you ask."

"Uh, I means, cans I pwease hab a soda toos?"

"Better." Peter handed the older boy the money. "Please get Scottie whatever you're getting."

Eric nodded and began to shimmy his way out of the aisle but the little boy called after him, "Air-wick, waits. I is comings too."

"No, you're not," both Peter and Eric replied in sync.

"Whys not?"

"Because…" Peter squinted back up the row to where the food outlets were. He could see from his seat, the end of where the patrons where lining up. Turning back, he relented, "Okay Scott-Allen. You can go, but you must hold Eric's hand tightly at all times, understand?"

Scottie nodded with a big smile.

"Seriously," Eric groaned. "I've gotta take pip-squeak?"

"If you want a soda you do."

Eric rolled his eyes but held out his hand, "Fine. Come on squirt, before Peter reneges on the soda altogether."

# # #

"Can you believe this line?" Eric whinged to no one in particular as he confirmed how long they'd been waiting by checking the time on his watch. "What'd everyone in the whole friggen stadium just decide all of a sudden that they were thirsty?"

"Maybes theys hab too much popcorns too?"

"Yeah, that'd be right."

"Eri…"

Eric startled, not from the touch of the hand that came to rest on his shoulder, but from the long since heard voice with which his name had been spoken.

He spun around and released the hand he'd been charged with holding so he could leap into the expectant arms of the young woman. "Mom!"

"Hello my dear boy. I've missed you!"

"I've missed you more," Eric cried through tears of joy. "I thought maybe you weren't coming back! Peter and all the others have been looking for you. Where have you been?"

"I know you've got a lot of questions…" she glanced over her son's shoulder at the rows of seats before taking his hand and leading him off to the side. Eric snatched up Scott-Allen's hand and hauled him along too. "We don't have much time. I've been back in the city for two weeks now waiting to get you alone – I even tried to catch your eye last weekend at the beach but it hasn't been easy. I'll explain everything on the way but we need to leave now." She started walking away from the drink kiosk and beckoned for her son to follow.

Eric took a couple of steps but stopped when he remembered he was still holding Scottie's hand. He held it up like it would explain everything. "Mom?"

"He'll be okay. Someone will come and get him and take him back to his parents. We must go now, Eri."

Eric freed the little hand and took another couple of steps before stopping once more. He glanced over his shoulder and couldn't ignore the worried expression on the smaller boy's face.

"Air-wick, wheres use going?"

He stepped back and crouched down, "Look, I've just got to go and do something. I'll be back in a minute. You go back to Peter and tell him I'm still lining up for the drinks."

Scottie looked around, "Which ways is dadda?"

"Eri… We must go."

Eric straightened up, "I need to take Scottie back. He's never gonna find his way otherwise."

"Someone will take him to security. He'll be fine."

"How about I take him to that security officer over there?" Eric pointed.

"There's no time. By the time he questions you, Peter's going to be wondering where you both are."

Eric stood, hopelessly conflicted by what he was supposed to do, what he needed to do. He looked at his mom with her pleading eyes, he looked down at Scottie with fear seeping into his little round orbs. Indecision began flooding his brain. "Uh…"

"Eri…"

"I can't just leave Scottie on his own," he finally decided with some conviction.

"Okay…which entry did you come in?"

"We came in the main gate at the left entrance, and then straight into the Great Hall."

"Listen carefully, there are bathrooms beside the member's club. When you're leaving, tell Peter you need to use the bathroom, and then slip away. Come up the ramp, I'll be waiting for you at the top."

"What time?" Eric asked as he pressed a button on his watch.

"It should be about five thirty, if not before."

"You know Peter will start looking for me if I don't come straight back."

"Good luck to him. There's going to be thirty thousand fans all trying to leave at once. We're going to be able to get a good head start."

"What's plan B, in case I can't get to you?"

"Plan B is I meet you on Kingsbridge Road Station at nineteen hundred."

"Okay," Eric glanced down at the little guy who appeared oblivious to whatever was being planned. "I'd better get back in line for the drinks… You'll be there won't you?"

"Yes, of course I will," Alex leaned down and took her sons cheeks in her hands and kissed him lovingly on his forehead. "I'll see you soon, my handsome Prince Ericien."

# # #

Eric gazed out into the playing field, not actually seeing any of the action that had played out since returning to his seat. All he could visualize was the image of his mom and him together as he contemplated how close he'd come to being able to be with her again. If only he'd been allowed to go get the drink on his own – he wouldn't have hesitated if it weren't for the…

"Air-wick…"

"What now?"

"Air-wick," Scottie leaned across his dad's lap and held out his hand. "Cans I hab morw pops corn pwease?"

Eric stared uncaringly into the near empty bucket sitting on his lap, his mood darkened by the anxiety he felt regarding the escape plan. "No."

"Eric…" Peter warned. "Don't be mean."

"Fine," he shoved the bucket across Peter's lap and into the waiting hands. "But don't go blaming me when the squirt chucks up yellow popcorn vomit all over the subway passengers on the way home."

Scottie took the bucket but also remembered his manners, "Tank oo…Pwince Air-ee-see-an."

Peter and Elizabeth exchanged puzzled glances, which Eric didn't miss. He attempted a fast redirect, "Uh, so Peter, what did you say the name of this pitcher was again? I think he's the best they've got. The coaches should have been using him earlier."

"His name is Tommy Andrews," Peter replied distractedly. "He's only just been traded from Detroit so they probably wanted to see how well he settles in before giving him too much mound time."

"Well, looks like they made themselves a good deal."

"Yeah," Peter leaned down closer to the younger boy and lowered his voice, "Scott-Allen, what did you call Eric before?"

"I calls him Pwince Air-ee-see-an." Even though the answer was spoken around several kernels of popcorn, it was easy enough to make out what the little boy was saying.

Eric leaned around Peter and tried to explain, "I've been telling Scottie stories some nights when he can't get to sleep and one of them has Kings and Queens…"

"But nots Pwince Air-"

"Yes, Prince Ericien. You've just forgotten squirt. I tell you lots of things that you forget."

"Nose I don'ts."

"Yes, you do!"

"Boys!" Peter held up his hand and twisted his back more as to block the older boy off from the younger one. "Scott-Allen…where did you hear that name, Prince Ericien?"

"Fwoms the lady."

"What lady?" Peter was reaching for his phone even as he asked.

Scottie looked back up in the direction of the food outlets. "Da lady up dare whens we gots the sodas… Air-wick's momma."

Peter was on his feet looking around as he punched in a number. "Yeah, it's Burke. I've got a positive ID on Alex Hunter at Yankee Stadium. Put all units on full alert." He clicked off the phone and stared down at the older boy, who in turn returned an equal, if not more threatening glare of his own. Thinking better of it, Peter reached down and snatched up his hand. "Come on…let's go."

"Where we going?"

"Home."

"Why? Can't we stay till the end," Eric pleaded while checking his watch. It was way too soon. He anchored onto the seat with his free hand. "There's still three more innings."

"Not for you there's not…" Peter plucked the boy's hand easily off the seat and started to haul him along the aisle… "It's game over."


	13. Chapter 13

"Yeah…no…did they say when?…"

Eric followed Peter with his eyes as the agent paced around the living room making one phone call after another…

"…yeah, I want to be kept in the loop on that particular lead. I think it might…"

…not that he was concerned he could miss something the agent might accidently divulge - since their hasty departure from the stadium, Peter hadn't allowed him to be any further away than arm's reach, like he somehow had an invisible leash tied round his waist. Eric checked the time on his watch. In a little over an hour he was supposed to be at the other end of the city. He was never going to make it!

"…okay, thanks Jones." Peter pocketed his phone and came to a standstill. He placed both hands on his hips and fixed the boy with his FBI issued interrogation glare. Eric glared back, his frustration and anxiety overriding any intimidation he may have otherwise felt by the seriousness of the agent.

"What did she say to you?"

Peter had already asked the same question many times over on the ride home in the squad car. Originally, they were meant to catch the subway home but Eric supposed factoring in an association with a wanted fugitive did have its perks. "What did who say to me?" And many times over, he'd given the same noncommittal response.

"Listen, Eric…" Peter came and sat on the coffee table and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, "…your mom is in a lot of trouble. We need to bring her in before she goes and digs herself in deeper."

"What, so you can throw her in prison too? Maybe her and Neal can share a cell? Of course you would have to put Doctor Patrick on retainer – having both parents in prison has got cause some seriously damaging physiological scaring for a kid!"

"Eric, I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that your mom won't have to go to prison for what's she did, but the longer she evades authorities, the worse it's going to be for her…and that's the truth."

"Not if she evades authorities for the next seven years – the statue of limitations mean anything to you, Agent Burke?"

"That's _statute_, Eric but," Peter shook his head, "never mind…the bottom line is, do you want you mom to be on the run for the rest of her life? Have you considered how that affects her, how it affects you?"

"Better being on the run than stuck in some filthy hell-hole of a Croatian jail cell. I'd run forever rather than take my chances with their corrupt legal system."

"Eric…tell me what happened in Dubrovnik?"

Eric's thoughts momentarily drifted away from his current situation and began recollecting the events from a year ago.

"Eric…"

He snapped back and pierced the agent with confronting blue eyes. "How did you know what my mom called me? As soon as Scottie said the name, both you and Elizabeth knew who'd said it. I've never told you and I'm sure as hell Mom didn't."

Peter softened his voice, "In the hospital, while she was a bit out of it from the medication, that's what your mom called you."

"Oh." Eric hadn't recalled his mom using his special name but Peter would know. He'd only been allowed to see his mom a couple of times and on each occasion, he was accompanied into the room by either Peter or Elizabeth. "Can I go use the bathroom? Or am I going to have to sit here till I wet my pants?"

"You can go," Peter nodded towards the stairs.

The boy didn't waste time in clambering off the couch and making his way quickly across the room.

"Eric…"

He paused with one foot on the first step tread and tried not to check his watch, but he couldn't help himself – time was a wasting. "What now?"

"Earlier in the year, when your mom finally re-surfaced after all those years away from the city, why did she risk coming back here with you? Why take a chance when she knew this of all places was the most difficult place to remain incognito. Too many people knew her face…why risk it?"

Eric turned back, "I'll tell you if you tell me exactly what happened with Neal and my mom the night she went to hospital."

"I can't do that."

"Then I guess we both get to keep our little secrets don't we, Agent Burke."

# # #

Eric stared out the window and mentally checked off the station as the train departed Mount Eden Avenue. He was almost at the rendezvous and, he checked his watch, he was going to be on time – maybe even a couple of minutes early. In the end, getting away had been relatively simple. As soon as Peter had allowed him to go upstairs to use the bathroom, he'd easily climbed through the push-out bathroom window. The sliding windows in the upstairs bedrooms had security screens but the tiny window in the bathroom was obviously deemed too small to require such a measure. It was a tight fit and he had to go out head first, but he'd done it once before, soon after he'd come to live with the Burkes, so he knew it could be done. Once outside the window, he'd scaled down the large sewage drain pipe and soft landed on the grass. Then it was simply a matter of scampering over the back fence rather than taking a chance at being seen running from the front. Once out on the road that ran the block behind, he had bolted for the subway.

The waiting on the platform had been an excruciatingly scary two minutes but when the train finally pulled in, he had thanked his good fortune that it was the 4 and he would be able to stay on it all the way across town to Kingsbridge Road without switching lines.

He couldn't wait to be with his mom again – it had been so long…too long. Eric imagined his mom had a plan for getting them out of the city and he guessed, ultimately the country. It wouldn't be an easy accomplishment but his mom always had a master strategy of some kind – like the foresight she had to arrange to meet on Kingsbridge station in less than…Eric checked the time…less than seven minutes. Fortunately, there were only three more stops.

The train pulled into Burnside Avenue and Eric observed the passengers getting on with trepidation. He'd been careful when he'd left the house to be sure he wasn't being followed but it wasn't too easy to monitor once he'd reached the subway. For a Sunday afternoon, there seemed to be an inordinate number of commuters. The train doors shut and Eric scanned the crowd in his carriage, relieved not to see any familiar faces. He knew some of the agents Peter worked with and had kept an eye out for anyone looking suspicious but the one guy who seemed to appear acting out of place, had departed the train about five stops back.

Still, the closer he got to Kingsbridge Road, the more hypo the butterflies in his stomach became. It wasn't entirely beyond the realm of possibility that Peter had somehow managed to catch up and was going to jump out of the conductor's booth and throw a net over him…and his mom. Eric stood up and looked anxiously around the carriage. No one was giving him any undue attention but he figured it wouldn't hurt to go on a bit of a reconnaissance mission. His mom had taught him that the only people who would react to being scrutinized were those who had something to hide or were uncomfortable for a reason, so staring noticeably at people was a good way of flushing out suspected trouble - everyone else would be too caught up in themselves to really give a damn. Eric began making his way along the carriage, taking a moment to pause and inspect each passenger as he passed. Most did like his mom said, they'd glance up, see it was nothing more than some silly kid nosing around and go back to whatever it was they were doing. Some went so far as to glare back by way of saying, 'piss off, kid,' but no one appeared to act suspiciously. He got to the end of the carriage and waited till the train came to a standstill before pushing through the internal doors into the next one. There were less people in this carriage and he'd given everyone the once over and made it to the end long before the train pulled in to Fordham Road. He waited by the door for the train to come to a complete stop before going through but as the passengers moved to the outside doors, he caught a glimpse through the small glass window of a navy blue hat at the far end of the carriage, disappearing behind the far sliding connecting door. A navy blue cap wasn't exactly a smoking gun, particularly in light of the afternoon's baseball game but the suspicious guy who'd disappeared over half-a-dozen stops ago had been sporting a Yankees Cap. As soon as the doors opened, Eric shot out and darted between the disembarking passengers as he made his way along the platform, past the adjoining carriage and towards the next. Before he knew it, the alert came over the speakers that the doors were closing, forcing Eric into a sprint for the final ten feet. He sprang through the closing doors and inhaled deeply to slow his breathing as they closed behind him.

Taking another couple of settling breaths, he casually gazed around the carriage easily spotting halfway along, the guy in the Yankees cap, who just happened to be wearing the same faded green tee-shirt of the guy from earlier. Eric kept his eyes downcast as he moved closer. The guy didn't show any signs of acknowledgment as Eric nudged past the other passengers but he did twist his body ever so slightly while pretending to read the subway map on the wall as Eric passed. Eric moved along a few more steps then quickly turned back. The guy also made a move to look back in the opposite direction, but it was too late, Eric had already spotted the ear piece snaking down the back of his collar. Eric's stomach did a dive – it was all a trap. It had been easy absconding the Burke compound because Peter had wanted him to escape…so he could lead them all to his mom. It seemed his mom wasn't the only master schemer in town.

Eric considered his options. The Yankees guy was no doubt one of many - there'd be plenty more Feds shadowing the green line, waiting to pounce as soon as they had a location for the rendezvous point, which so happened to be coming up fast. The bright red electronic read out above the door read, next station, Kingsbridge Road. He swallowed down the fear that was pooling under his tongue and made his way along to the end of the carriage before sliding down onto one of the empty plastic seats. He pressed his forehead against the windowpane and watched agonizingly as the train slowed down in its approach to the station. The edge of the platform came into focus and Eric began scanning the people waiting as he shot past. There were several groups and quite a few singles but only one that made no attempt to step towards the train as it came to a complete halt. The form was about his mom's build but it was wearing a man's jacket and a longer style knit cap that covered all the way down the side of the head and neck. Earlier, his mom had been wearing a plain Yankee's tee-shirt, blue jeans and cap, but of course she would have made some type of effort to disguise herself. The train doors shut and apart from the knit cap person, everyone else on the platform had either boarded the train or were making towards the exit stairs at the end of the platform. He wished he could wave at the lone figure to gauge whether it was his mom or not but even the slightest signal could give her position away to the Feds who were no doubt monitoring closely his every move. The train began pulling out and in doing so, the figure loomed closer and as the carriage came up level, in that fleeting moment before he shot past, Eric could see well enough that it was in fact his mom. It took him all his effort, not to lift his hand to his mouth and blow her a kiss. He blinked away the water blurring his vision as he watch out the corner of eye, his mom getting further and further away before finally disappearing altogether.

Eric continued to press his forehead against the window, not caring in the slightest, who got on or off, until he disembarked with a handful of other passengers at Mosholu station. Without bothering to take a glance around to see if he was being followed, he marched purposefully along the platform and came up onto the street. It was unpleasantly cold and the chill bit straight though his light sweater, but he didn't give a damn. He looked in each direction and made a decision on which way he was going to head. It wasn't an area of the city he was familiar with but he could see the entrance to a park, diagonally across from where he was standing. As soon as there was a break in the traffic, he jogged across the road and entered the park without hesitation. Ordinarily, he wouldn't be stupid enough to go in alone but he figured that whomever was tailing him would come to his rescue if he was accosted by an undesirable. Fuelled by the anger he felt towards his shadow and everyone else involved by association, he ploughed ahead into the darkness.

As he marched along the path, he passed a couple of unfavourable characters slumped against trees or huddled together on the grass, but they barely displayed any reaction, at least until he was well past, most probably due to the fact that they weren't even sure that they'd seen correctly. Eric imagined not many kids were allowed to stroll through this park at night…by themselves. Keeping his head down, he continued on without issue, till eventually the path ended and he came out on the bordering street. It was probably enough of a red herring for the Feds but for good measure, he started off up the street, in the opposite direction from the station. He wondered how many blocks they'd let him carry on for until they decided enough was enough, but after traversing seven city blocks, Eric started to slow down and even began to question whether he had made an error in his assessment of the Yankees Cap guy. Maybe he hadn't seen a com wire at all. Maybe the guy had just been listening to music on his iPod. Maybe he wasn't being followed and he was simply a lone eleven year old boy who'd just walked though a dark NYC park frequented by crack heads and paedophiles! And maybe…maybe it hadn't been a trap at all and he could have gotten off at Kingsbridge Road, fallen into his mom's waiting arms and now, instead of them still not being together, they could have been well on their way to the Canadian border.

Eric bit his lip and came to a complete standstill. He checked his watch – it was only quarter after Maybe his mom hadn't left yet. He spun on his heels and began heading back towards the station. It was unlikely she would have stuck around for too long after the rendezvous time but if he hurried… His quick strides soon turned into a jog and by the time he hit the first curb, he was moving too quickly to stop himself and he ran straight into the side of a black SUV that had appeared from nowhere. It probably would have hurt if he allowed himself the luxury of feeling sorry for himself but he was in too much of a rush to care. So instead, he pushed off the side of the vehicle and came around the back but this time he ran into a wall…a moving, talking wall. Eric may have taken notice as to what was being said under different circumstances, but he was on a mission. He brushed off the man-wall but soon found he was prevented from going any further by the hold the man had his upper arm. With his free hand, he spun around and bashed against the man's chest. It was ineffectual and if he'd been thinking straight, he would have known well enough to strike an area with at least some sensitivity but he was too worked up to act rationally so he struck the same place again. "Let me go, you fucking asshole!"

"Eric, calm down."

"No! I won't! Just leave me the fuck alone!"

"That's not going to happen…" Peter held the boy still so he could look him in the eye, "Where are you wanting to go to, Eric?"

Eric opened his mouth and it was a small miracle that Kingsbridge Road didn't come out and instead he screamed, "You fucking ass! This is all your fault! You ruined everything. I hate you!" as he pounded the agent's chest more with his fists.

Peter grabbed the flailing limbs and bundled the boy under his arms while Eric continued to kick and scream for all it was worth. The agent who'd been driving, got out to assist and it took both of them a combined effort to manoeuvre the hysterical child into the back seat of the vehicle. Peter scrambled in the back also, receiving a couple of painful hits to his face courtesy of the boy's shoe but once the door was locked shut behind him, he could concentrate all his efforts on restraining the child.

"Eric, you need to calm down!"

"No!" Eric had another couple of failed attempts at taking a swing at the agent but in the end, gave in to his overwhelming emotional state and dropped his head down onto Peter's lap, where he finally surrendered and allowed a deluge of pitiful sobbing to engulf his body.

Peter ran his hands through the damp, wavy tufts of dark hair that reminded him so much of his fathers and rubbed soothing circles on the boy's back.

A short time later, the driver looked in the rear-view mirror and inquired, "Where are we headed, sir?"

Peter sighed, "Back to Brooklyn," and then he patted sympathetically, the top of the boy's head that had crashed out on his lap. "Back home."


	14. Chapter 14

Eric splashed his face with warm water before drying it tiredly with a towel. He probably should have had a shower to help wake himself up, but he didn't even feel like he could be bothered with the effort it would require to merely stand under the water, so washing the sleep from the corners of his eyes was the best he was going to get this particular morning. He walked to the top of the stairs and listened. Since he'd woken up, he was yet to hear any sounds drifting up from downstairs, almost like he was alone in the house – not that such an inconceivable event would ever happen, but still, there was nothing to indicate otherwise. He checked his watch and according to the time, Peter should have been at work and Elizabeth would be fussing about fixing Scottie some mid-morning snack, but when he came down the stairs and rounded the corner into the living room, he felt let down as his eyes took in the scene of Peter, sitting at the table, busily tapping away on his computer. He sighed deeply and sulked across to one of the chairs opposite. His stomach was grumbling from its emptiness – he hadn't eaten anything since the popcorn at the baseball, but he was feeling too depleted to even consider going into the kitchen to pour a juice or butter some bread for a sandwich. Even the fruit bowl in the middle of the table seemed a mile too far.

He glanced over at Peter but the monitor was blocking a direct line of vision so he had to assume that was the agent's way of saying, 'I can't face dealing with you right now.' Which was fine because he didn't feel like dealing with Peter either. In fact, he didn't feel like discussing anything with anyone least of all someone who was trained in the fine art of interrogation techniques. Eric twisted his wrist so he could observe the time. Ten fifteen and forty-two…three…four seconds. It was now at least fifteen hours since his mom had no doubt departed from Kingsbridge Road. In the fifteen hours she could easily have made her way to anywhere in Canada, or maybe she went the other way and travelled south. At the stadium, he hadn't even been able to ask her where she'd been hiding out for the past six months or what she'd been doing, and now, how long was he going to have to wait for another chance to find out? Eric clicked the buttons on the side of his watch until another time read-out appeared. This one read, . His finger lingered over the reset button while he hum'd and hah'd whether the two minutes at the baseball had counted. In the end, he decided they didn't so he clicked a different button and returned to the time.

Eric stopped staring at his watch and looked up, surprised to see Peter staring back at him across the table, the laptop pushed off to the side. "What?" he challenged but Peter simply continued his silent stare. "Am I cramping your style?" More silence. "Oh, I get it now," Eric tapped the top of his forehead. "You figured if you just let me jabber on for long enough, I might slip up and tell you where you could find mom."

"No," Peter shook his head unenthusiastically, "I just figured I'd let you get it all out of your system because you never hear anything until you do."

"Maybe I choose not to hear what you're saying cause it's like a broken down record and I've heard it all before, many times over."

"Maybe," Peter repeated before pausing to take in a long, weary breath. "You must be hungry. Would you like me to fix you a sandwich or there's some left over pizza from last night's dinner that I could heat up for you?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Okay," Peter shrugged and went about collecting some files and notes from his brief case that was perched on the chair beside his.

Eric was waiting for more but when none was forthcoming he stated, "I was expecting to see the bathroom window all bordered up this morning."

Peter made a neat pile out of the folders, which he laid carefully on the table, before looking back across, "This isn't a detention centre, Eric. You've never been a prisoner in this house and you never will. And regardless of that, a screw in the window wouldn't keep you in. If you want to leave, you'd find a way."

"You wanted me to escape last night." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"So I'd lead you to mom."

Peter nodded even though it wasn't a question either.

"Well, your little trick didn't work, Agent Burke."

"It wasn't a trick, Eric. Out of nowhere, after being off the grid for more than half a year, your mom appears at Yankee stadium. I'd be derelict in my duties if I didn't take measures to locate her whereabouts."

"So, because your job made you, you let me travel by myself, all the way across town and through a sleazy park at night, and yet," he pointed towards the front door, "I'm not even allowed to walk home from school by myself."

"You were never alone. Agent Garrison trailed you all the way to Mosholu Parkway and through the park. Once back out on the street, I had eyes on you the whole way. You were obviously in too much of an emotional state to notice that you were being tailed by an SUV."

"And obviously you were too emotionally careless to realise it was all a decoy to get you as far away from Mom as I possibly could."

"Eric, you might think you are, but in actual fact you aren't doing your mom any favours by protecting her. And it's not fair of her to expect that of you, or to put you in a position where you need to. Do you think it would be right of Elizabeth to ask the same of Scott-Allen some day when he is a little older? Can you even imagine Elizabeth doing that?"

"No. I can't see Mrs Brady letting Bobbie have a puff of a cigarette but that doesn't mean she isn't running a meth lad out of her garage and selling it to all the Riverside High Seniors either…So where is Carol, I mean, Elizabeth and the squirt anyway? Did I scare them off?"

"They're out having a playdate with one of Scottie's kindy pals."

"A playdate? How perfectly Burke," Eric scoffed. "So why didn't you wake me for school this morning? Did Head Mack find something else to blame me for and extend my suspension another week or two?"

"No. Is there something else? Should I expect another call?"

"Probably. At Barkley, I only have to look the wrong way and I'm in trouble."

"Elizabeth and I thought you'd be in no fit state to return to school today," Peter explained, "after what you went through last night. We didn't want you 'looking the wrong way' at someone and getting yourself into trouble."

"Does that mean I get to have the whole week off? I am feeling rather agitated and it wouldn't take much to set me off. And now that I think about it, it probably would be best for every one involved if I took off the rest of the term."

"That's not going to happen. You're going back to school tomorrow."

"Excellent," Eric stated sarcastically. "I am so excited, I wish it was tomorrow already."

Peter eyed the boy but didn't comment as he turned his computer around so Eric could see the monitor. On the screen was a low resolution imagine, but clear enough nevertheless, that he could easily identify his mom standing on Kingsbridge Road Station.

Eric clenched his fists on his lap as he spat out angrily, "Why? Why do you even give a flying fruit basket where the hell my mom is? Haven't you got some actual criminals to catch, Agent Burke or are you so hard pressed to find a real case that you'll drudge up any old B&E?"

"This isn't a simple B&E, Eric."

"Because you've made it that way. What's got you so personally involved that you're scouring through subway surveillance footage trying to track my mom's every move?"

"You want to know the reason I'm personally involved?"

Eric shrugged, non-committedly.

"Well, I'm staring at that reason right now. I'm personally involved because one, when your mom slipped away from hospital security, she didn't seem to care that she was leaving behind her eleven year old son in the care of someone he'd known for less than a week and two, until she comes forward and confesses to being the sole perpetrator of the theft of the Gorilla Spindle Neuron Jade valued at almost two million dollars, your father…my best friend, has to sit in a prison cell twenty-three hours a day. That's why I'm personally involved and if those reasons weren't enough on their own, Alexandra Hunter is currently fronting the top five of the White Collar Most Wanted list due to the theft in the Village and because she is under investigation by Interpol after allegedly stealing a matching Whale Jade from a Croatian drug lord named, Lorekovic."

At the mention of the name, Eric found himself getting a familiar pain – the one that made him feel like someone had placed a slab of concrete atop of his chest, like he couldn't take in enough air to fill his lungs, the one that made him want to call out to his mom so she would coming running to wrap him in a loving embrace while whispering gently in his ear that everything was going to be okay. 21…22…23…Eric's eyes became fixated on the time on his watch as his heart rate matched the beat of the seconds ticking over…29…30…31… And the more seconds that ticked over, 34…35…the more laboured his breathing became…38…39…40… As he struggled to take in enough air, Eric startled when he felt a warm hand come to rest on his shoulder and another that wrapped itself over the top of his watch, effectively blocking the time. Eric looked up. Peter was now crouched beside him, holding him gently and whispering, "Hey kiddo, it's going to be okay, just take a couple of deep breaths."

Eric nodded and did his best to comply and after a few minutes of matching his breathing with Peter's, he found the pain in his chest dissipating. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his sweat pants before stating, shakily, "I'm good."

"Okay," Peter guided the boy onto his feet and led him across to the couch. "You sit here while I fix you some food. Which would you prefer, sandwiches or pizza?"

"I'll have ice-cream."

"And sandwiches it is," Peter declared over his shoulder on the way to the kitchen."

"I'll have egg and salad," Eric called after him.

"You'll have whatever I feel like making."

"Fine," Eric grumbled, too weak to do any more. "I just wont eat them if it's not egg and salad." But he knew he would. He didn't want to feel the hunger pains any longer than he needed to. The last time he'd felt a similar emptiness in his belly, he'd been locked away for days in a dark, unheated room in some derelict building in a compound belonging to the Croatian. At the time, he'd promised himself if he ever made it out, he'd never have to feel that hungry again.


	15. Chapter 15

"Mister Hunter…Mister Hunter!"

"Uh…yes, Miss?"

"Am I keeping you from something far more important?"

_Many, many things._ "No, Miss."

"Then stop playing around with your watch or I'll have it confiscated."

_Over my dead body!_

"Good, and now that you've graced us with your attention, please explain to the class your theory behind the fall of the Roman Empire?"

Eric groaned inwardly. Ordinarily he would have humoured Miss Wells with an intelligent, if not entirely accurate explanation, but today he simply wasn't in the mood. "Uh, maybe they all got food poisoning from the hotdog vender working the Roman baths?"

The boy's remark drew a rowdy laughter from the class. Miss Wells clapped her hands and called over the top of the noise, "Quiet! Students, enough!"

As the rumble slowly died down, Eric didn't feel even the slightest remorse over disrupting the history class – it had been the fault of the teacher, by stupidly putting forth such a mind-numbing challenge. Now if she'd gone and asked him to decode the Voynich Manuscript, which has continued to puzzle scholars throughout the centuries, he may have given it the deserved attention and responded accordingly.

"Mister Hunter, any more nonsense answers like that one and you'll be making up for lost time in this room after school."

_Whatever,_ Eric reflected before considering that perhaps he could try to act out in all his classes tomorrow and be kept back so late, he would have to miss out on his appointment with 'Doctor Phil.'

"Mister Hunter…"

"Yes, Miss?"

"An appropriate answer to my question, please."

Eric pretended to consider, then he shrugged his shoulders, "I…"

Brrrrriiiiinnggg! Brrrrriiiiinnggg!

"Okay, don't forget I need the outline for your assignments on my desk by next Monday…" the students began packing up their notes while the teacher was issuing the instructions, "…and be sure to designate the specific areas you and your partner will be completing…Class dismissed."

Carl caught up with his friend as they edged their way out the door along with the rest of the group, "Hey, E. You want to do the project together?"

"Yeah," Eric responded absently while making their way along the hall.

"I was thinking we could do it on the Aztecs. What do you think about that?"

Eric had been hoping to do the project on the ancient Xiongnu Empire but what did it matter anyway. "Sounds like a good plan," he mumbled as they reached the lockers. Carl lowered his voice. "You okay, E?"

"Yeah," Eric turned and forced his face into a smile. "I'm fine." He opened his locker and at the same time, both sets of eyes trailed to a pastel yellow envelope, decorated with a fancy E, sitting atop of the textbooks. "What the?" Eric raised his brows as he reached in and retrieved said envelope.

"Who's it from?" Carl grabbed it from his friend's hand and turned it over, looking for a clue but the back was blank.

Eric snatched the envelope back and held it up to the light, trying to get a clue himself but there was nothing obvious.

"Do you think it's from your mom?"

Eric could only hope. He knew he should wait till later so he could steam open the envelope, least a clue be in the sticky gum but he didn't have the patience to wait more than a second longer than he had to. He ripped it open without much care and pulled out a small folded piece of paper.

"Well," Carl asked again, "who is it from?"

While holding his breath, Eric unfolded the note and… "Who the frig is Rose?"

Carl chuckled, "Rose, you know, Rosie Adintay."

Eric shrugged, "Is that name supposed to mean something to me?"

"Yeah, you blockhead. She's in half our classes. She sits behind you in math and across from you in Italian."

"Is she that girl with…" Eric struggled to select an identifying characteristic… "long hair?"

"Yes, that's her," Carl confirmed sarcastically. "Man you really are ultra observant!"

"How the hell am I supposed to know who she is?"

Carl rolled his eyes, "When we have Italian after, I'll snap a photo with my NaNOT, but in the meantime, what did she write?"

Eric speed read the note in his head before giving his friend the bullet points, "She says she thought I may have changed schools when I was away last week and she's happy to see me back. She also asks at the end if I am going to the Winter Wonderland dance."

"What are you going to say?" Carl inquired excitedly.

"What do you mean, 'what am I going to say?'"

"Well, are you going to go to the dance with her? It sounds like she's asking."

"I'm not going to any stupid dance and even if I was, I certainly wouldn't be going _with_ someone." Eric refolded the note and went about collecting a textbook from the locker. "What's that supposed to mean anyways? We walk in together?"

"I dunno exactly," Carl shrugged. "It just seems like you're lucky to be asked. No one's ever asked me before."

"Are you going?"

"Mom always makes me. She says I'd be an embarrassment to her if I didn't show up, like all the other mothers would think there was something wrong with her for not sending me along to support a school fundraiser."

"Are the dances here fun?"

"Not really. Mostly we just stand around talking to the other boys and the girls stand around going on with giggly bullshit. Towards the end, everyone starts to get into it but it really depends on the band they hire or the DJ. The last one was totally lame and everyone left early."

"Wow, I don't think I can pass up on that. I better let Rose know immediately to count me in."

Carl glanced at his friend sceptically, "You really should think about going, if for no other reason than I'll have someone to hang out with. But for now, what are you going to do about the note? Are you going to reply?"

"What do you think?" Eric shoved the envelope deep into his bag and closed the locker.

Carl closed up his own and proceeded off down the hall. "Suit yourself…I'll catch you at recess."

"Yeah, see ya." Eric moved off in the opposite direction with images and sounds of the totally awesome beach parties him and his mom had attended every Monday night on Las Palmas de Gran. The locals would celebrate the end of the tourist taxing weekend with a celebration fiesta that involved proper dancing music, courtesy of Pavlo's Reggae Troop, and the store owners sharing the left over seafood, fresh fruit and meats in a buffet spread that was a feast enough for everyone. The celebration would always go well into the early hours of Tuesday morning and as a result, most business wouldn't reopen until well after lunch, or not at all.

Eric smiled at the memory as he walked along the hall to his next class then, without knowing why, he reached into his bag and foraged around till he found the note once more. He unfolded the crumbled piece of paper and reread the message written by this Rose…Adintay. She had nice handwriting and he had to admit, it was a kind, if not daring thing to do. But Eric's smile soon transformed into a frown as he began to question the girl's motive and wondered momentarily if he was being set up. Was the note nothing more than a practical joke? Who would know? It seemed odd that out of the blue, this girl who had never talked to him in the past, decided to leave a note in his locker. The more he thought about it, the more he accepted that it had to be some kind of prank – one that he wasn't going to fall for it. And if by some small chance that it wasn't, the last thing he needed was a new friend. Any friendships he made during his stay in Brooklyn were destined to have a limited shelf life. It was going to be difficult enough walking out on Carl without so much as a, 'it's been fun. Catch you sometime if you're ever in my corner of the world.' Eric screwed up the paper and disposed of it into depths of his bag as he entered his next class, but as he did, he found himself looking forward to Italian class…out of morbid curiosity of course.


	16. Chapter 16

"You getting out?"

"No."

Peter huffed while twisting his body around so he was facing the back seat, "Damn it, Eric! Can't we just this once do it without a performance? Why do you think that every time we go through this, you need to put up a resistance? One time I'd like to arrive here, get out of the car, go in – no fuss, no whinging, no complaints."

"I'm not going in."

"Yes, you are! And we need to go now or we're going to be late…again."

"It's not counted as late if we don't go in at all."

"For some crazy reason," Peter grumbled mostly to himself as he rubbed the temples at the side of head, "I'd mistakenly believed that when we eliminated all the commotion relating to visiting your dad, this would be covered too… I really don't need this today, Eric." In light of what he'd been through in the past twenty-four hours, he really needed to cut a break.

"Neither do I, so can we please just go home."

"No." Peter paused to consider his next course of action – he didn't want to resort to dragging the kid out of the car if he could avoid it. "I'm going to give you to the count of five to get your butt out of this car or-"

"I've got a cramp in my stomach," the boy cut in with a pathetic moan. "I really don't feel all that well. I think maybe I'm going to be sick."

Peter eyed his young charge doubtfully, "What, this…stomach cramp just came about all of a sudden?"

"Yeah, it happens." Eric doubled forward and held his stomach, "It's hurting even worse now."

Peter pursed his lips and pierced the kid with a threatening glare. It really was an abysmal performance, if he'd ever seen one. "If you don't get your butt out of this car right now, mister, you and I are going to have a very long conversation when we get home about your blatant lying and having to cause a scene, every time we need to do something."

"Fine, I don't have a cramp," the boy gave up on the sickness strategy and tried an uncharted approach – honesty. "I just don't want to go. Please don't make me."

Peter was quite taken back by the boy's unguarded frankness, so much so, that he actually began to entertain the idea of considering his request. "You want me to see if we can change the appointment to later in the week?"

"No," Eric gazed out the window at the all-too-familiar building. "I don't want another appointment. I don't want to come here anymore."

"Why? You don't like Doctor Patrick? Would you rather we found you a different doctor?"

"I'd rather you didn't make me go to a doctor at all. I'm not sick."

Peter reached back and rested his hand on Eric's knee, but predicably the kid pulled it away and began playing with the buttons on his watch.

"We know you're not sick, Eric but you're still having the nightmares. El and I hear you calling out some nights."

"Lots of kids have nightmares and yet their parents don't force them along to see a shrink every week."

"It's not just the nightmares…" Peter paused to consider his words. "You've been through a lot this year, more than you should have to deal with by yourself. Doctor Patrick is someone you can talk to, he can help you work through any worries you may have and give you strategies for dealing with them."

"It's just…" Eric lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, "when I come here to sit with the doctor, it's one more thing in my life that makes me feel like..."

"Like what," Peter prompted when it became obvious the boy wasn't going to say anymore.

"Like there's something wrong with me. Like I'm not just like every other kid. I mean, I know I'm not already…my father is in prison and my mom is supposed to be, I've spent my life travelling from place to place cause we couldn't stay anywhere for too long, and now I'm being looked after by the FBI agent who is making it his mission to be the one to arrest my mom… you don't need to pay someone to tell me that life sucks. I'm not clueless, Peter. I know that my situation is unusual, but when I come here, I feel that my dysfunctional existence is something I _shouldn't_ be coping with." Eric looked up so he could meet Peter's eyes, "I understand that you and Elizabeth think it's going to help me, but in actual fact…it's having the opposite effect."

It was Peter's turn to gaze out the window as he mulled over the boy's words. He knew enough to recognise that children weren't emotionally or mentally mature enough to make decisions regarding their psychological wellbeing, but the kid did put forth a strong argument for his case. "Okay," he tried what he considered to be a suitable compromise, "you don't have to come and see Doctor Patrick anymore, but I'm not comfortable with… you need to have access to someone to talk to. Perhaps there's a G.O. at your school-"

"Arrgh!" Eric groaned in painful frustration. "You don't get it, do you? I don't need anyone."

"That's not how I see it, but…all right then, how about this… I won't bring you to a therapist if you agree that you'll be more open with Elizabeth and me, talk to us if you're worried about something, and if we ask you a question, you'll give us an honest response - none of the usual nonsense you go on with." It was highly unlikely to happen but Peter was willing to try anything that meant avoiding the weekly torture of the doctor's car park battle of wills. "Do you think you can do that?"

"Yeah," Eric answered without hesitation. "Of course I can."

"We'll, that remains to be seen, so this is what I'm going to do – I'm going to cancel the appointment with Doctor Patrick for just this week. We'll trial how it goes and if I feel nothing has changed, that you're still bottling up your emotions and instead of discussing how you really feel you keep giving us knee-jerk BS answers, then we'll come back here for your scheduled appointment next week."

"I'll accept your counteroffer," Eric said it in a way that made it sounds as if he was the one being accommodating, "if you agree to let me keep the money you'd otherwise have to pay Doctor Patrick."

Peter glared at the boy, "I'm yet to cancel the appointment. We can still go in if you like?"

"No," Eric shook his head. "No, I don't like. You keep the money. You and Elizabeth probably need it more than me anyways."

"How very generous of you," Peter responded in kind. "Now remember, you and I made a deal." He twisted his body more so he could reach back his right hand.

Eric screwed his nose up, "You want me to shake on it?"

"Yes, I do. Shaking on it means that you promise to at least try and keep up your end of the deal."

"Oh, unreal," Eric lifted his hand with exaggerated effort but then quickly withdrew it up to his lips and spat into his palm. Then with a sparkle in his eye, he presented his hand.

Peter momentarily considered withdrawing but ultimately decided he was man enough to brave a smear of saliva. Taking the kid by surprise, he spat into his own palm and quickly snatched up the pro-offered hand, which he shook firmly before spinning back around and starting the engine. As he reversed out of his park, he glanced over his shoulder and took great delight in seeing the brat staring at his wet palm with palpable revulsion. The image was enough to bolster his resolve and instead of taking the first right at the lights, he turned left.

It took a little while for his passenger to notice, but after several blocks Eric called out, "Dare I ask…why aren't we heading home?"

Peter waited until he had pulled up at the next red before looking in his rear view mirror to answer, "Elizabeth's not expecting us home for at least another hour, we may as well go and do something."

Eric moaned, "Why? What does it matter if we get home early for a change?"

"It doesn't, but we should take advantage of the opportunity."

"Or we could just go home."

"We could, but we're not." When the lights changed green, Peter turned the car off the main road and entered a service road leading to a large shopping complex.

"Oh, man," Eric frowned unhappily at what he could see looming ahead. "Please tell me you're not going to make me follow you around the supermarket while you do grocery shopping."

Peter laughed loudly, "You don't know me very well do you, kiddo? I get an hour off so I make a beeline for a supermarket? You think that's the best I could come up with? That's pretty sad."

"You're telling me…So what are we really doing here?"

"You'll see," Peter continued driving past the main entrance and circled around to the back. He pulled into a free car park and turned to his back-seat passenger, "Out you get."

Eric stared miserably out the window at the bright neon sign before declaring, "I'd rather go grocery shopping with Elizabeth and Scottie every day after school for a whole week."

Peter laughed some more while climbing out of the car. When the kid didn't follow suit, he opened the back door, "Out."

"Do I haffta?"

"Yes, you 'haffta.'"

"But I can't skate," Eric whined as he manoeuvred hesitantly out of the car. "I've never been on skates in my life."

"We'll it's high time you did." Peter put his hand on the back of the kid's neck and guided him over towards the entrance to IceWorld ProRink.

"But I don't have a warm jacket…"

"We can hire one with the skates…Any more excuses?"

"Yeah, did I mention that I can't skate?"

"I'm going to teach you."

"Oh, man," Eric drug his heals in and looked around for something to anchor onto but Peter took his upper arm and effortlessly pulled him along. "Is this some kind of cruel and unusual punishment for the crap I put you through outside the doctor's office?"

"No, it's not. But if it makes you feel better about coming in, it can be."

"Peeetteer!" Eric pleaded as they entered into the foyer, "It's too cold in here!"

"If you think this is cold, wait till you get on the rink."

"And people do this because…"

"Because it's fun."

"Well, you'll let me know when we're having fun won't you because it's going to be hard to know while my brain is an icicle."


	17. Chapter 17

Eric checked the time on his watch and bounded down the stairs, pleased with himself that he was able to triumph over the old man's persistently punctual announcement that they would be leaving soon. It was the first time ever he'd got himself ready without being asked and even though he wasn't looking forward to going and seeing Neal, he had an ulterior motive – he needed answers. Plus, it never hurt to stack up a few brownie points with the oldies. Declaring that he was, "Ready," he strutted through the living area, making his way over to where they were sitting with their bottomless cups of coffee. "I figured I'd save you the trouble before you sent your little watch dog up to fetch me, seeing as how that's so much effort on your part."

"Uh…" Peter glanced over at Elizabeth for support. They hadn't worried getting a story ready because Eric bringing it up himself was the last thing they expected.

"Peter has to help me punch out the die cuts on three hundred invitations," Elizabeth pointed to a box on the sideboard. "The supplier overlooked the specific instructions before they sent them through."

Eric eyed the two adults suspiciously, "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Peter committed to the story, "it's your lucky day, kiddo. You get to have the morning off. Why don't you go out and see if you can't hustle up a game of basketball with the neighbours?"

Eric didn't say anything as he turned and made his way across to the front door and for a moment, both Peter and Elizabeth thought they had dodged a bullet, but… "Why?" The kid asked as he turned once more to face them.

"Why what, sweetie?"

"Why is Peter having to help you this morning? This sort of thing happens all the time – you having to drop stuff off at the last minute, stuffing invitations into envelopes, clients changing their minds on the day… you're always doing stuff like this and it's never stopped Peter from taking me to see Neal before."

Elizabeth nodded in the direction of the box, "These need to be done-"

"It's okay, hon," Peter cut in as he stood and walked across to the boy. "Come and sit down for a minute, Eric."

But Eric didn't. With his face paling visibly, he took an unsteady step back towards the door, ready to do a runner. "What's happened to Mom?"

"No," Peter came across and took the kid by his arm before guiding him back to the couch. "This is nothing to do with your mom. We haven't seen or heard from your mom since Kingsbridge Road."

"Oh," Eric flopped down onto the seat with relief, "I just thought, since you both were acting all weird that something had happened…So, why don't I have to go see, Neal? I mean, obviously it's not that lamo reason you tried to spin."

"No, that was our bad, Eric. We should have been upfront with you to begin with."

"Upfront about what?"

"About your dad."

"What about, Neal?"

"Earlier in the week, he…he got hurt in prison."

"How?"

"He was in a fight with some of the other prisoners and they broke his arm and he got cut in a few places."

The boy remained silent and still as Peter continued.

"He's improved a lot and is looking a lot better but he remains over at the prison's infirmary."

"Why?"

"It's a formality – so they can keep an eye on him for a couple more days, make sure the stitches are being dressed properly and that he's taking his tablets at the correct time."

"He had to have stitches?"

"Yes, but the doctor has said that everything is healing nicely."

"I want to go and see him," Eric pushed up from the couch and stepped towards the door.

"No," Peter also stood up, "it's not a good idea."

"Why? If he's looking a lot better and he's healing 'nicely,' why can't I go and see him?"

"He's still not a hundred percent and…besides, I didn't think you'd be bothered if we didn't go so I told your dad we wouldn't be coming this morning."

"Well," Eric snatched the car keys off the hook and held them out, "it's going to be a nice surprise for him when we show up then, isn't it?"

"Eric…"

"No!" Eric wrenched open the door as determination set in, "I'm going to go and see him, Peter, whether you take me or not so are you gonna drive me or has all that talk you go on about, saying that my father has a right to see me and our visits are what he looks forward to the most every week, has that all been a scam, nothing but a con?"

"No," Peter stepped over and took the keys out of the boy's hand. "It hasn't been con, Eric. I've meant what I said. Get your coat on and let's go visit your dad."

For a second Eric felt joyous that he'd secured another win, but the feeling was short lived, for the entire journey to the prison, he was unable to suppress the niggling voice in his head that kept saying, 'be careful what you wish for.' He'd wished for Neal to get hurt so he didn't have to visit him and now, it had gone and happened.

# # #

"So how was your week?"

"Better than yours…and mine was pretty crap so yours must have really sucked."

"It looks a lot worse than it is," Neal self-consciously pulled at the cuff on his dressing gown sleeve so as to conceal his cast completely. He'd asked Peter not to bring the boy in to visit while he looked like he did but, here they were.

"Yeah?" Eric made a show of casting a pointed look at the bandage wrapped around Neal's head and the multitude of scratches and bruises colouring his face. "Cause from where I'm sitting, it looks like you couldn't be in any more pain if you got run over by a semi-trailer after falling out of a twelve story building and landing on your head."

Neal shrugged, unwilling to admit that the boy was indeed correct. "The doctor has given me some pretty strong pain killers. When they wear off, it hurts more."

"So what happened?"

"I got in a fight with some of the other prisoners-"

"I already got the watered-down, child-friendly version from Peter. If you're going to bullshit me around as well, we might as well revert back to the insipid pussyfooting topics we always chit-chat about. School is school, Scottie had to come home early from Kindy yesterday with a sore tummy, Elizabeth- "

"Enough, Eric. You know you don't have to go round with a mountain-sized chip on your shoulder thinking it's you verses the world?"

"I don't. I just get sick of people acting like they're walking on eggs shells around me because they think I'm just some simpleton baby."

"That's not what they think and you know it. I just didn't want to tell you what happened because I didn't need you getting involved and worrying about me."

"There's not much chance of that," Eric mumbled before asking, "So are you gonna tell me or not?"

Neal glanced around the room, but to what end, Eric didn't know. They were sitting in some kind of annex, attached to the hospital wing and unlike the main prison visiting room that had guards watching attentively over the interactions, this area appeared to be monitored by security cameras alone. That being said, it wasn't like someone could just up and walk out – the only exit was back through the wards and they had appeared to be securely locked off from the outside world with heavy metal doors and a guard making sure no one came and went who wasn't supposed to. Neal turned back and lowered his voice, "On Tuesday morning, I went out into the yard to do my exercises before breakfast and I was approached by two of the other inmates. We got into a fight and one of them had a small piece of blade and I got cut up here," Neal pointed to a spot above his right eyebrow, then across his chest, "and here. During the fight, I got shoved to the ground and the back of my head hit something sharp. I needed stitches here," he pointed behind his head, "and, while I was on the ground, one of the men stomped on my arm, resulting in a compound fracture of the ulna," he lifted his right forearm. "Guess I won't be doing any more _boat_ paintings for a little while," he joked.

"No, I guess not," Eric didn't find it at all humerous and found himself swallowing hard to remove the bitter taste of guilt from his mouth. "So, why did they start the fight in the first place?"

"It was over something they thought I had, which I didn't."

"What? What were they after?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Fine! Be like that," Eric shrugged as he looked away and began taking a superfluous interest in the white panelled walls.

"Hey," Neal reached across with his good arm and placed a hand on his son's forearm. "All I meant was you don't need to get your head thinking about what happens in here and I didn't want you getting yourself all worked up."

"Like that would happen."

"Yeah," Neal shook his head. "I can't imagine why I thought it would. Anyway, before I answer anymore of your questions, I have some of my own."

"Like?"

"You said, you also had a pretty crappy week."

"That's not a question."

"You want to tell me about it?"

Eric crossed his arms and slouched down in the plastic bucket seat. "My week wasn't all bad – there was one moment when I didn't feel stabbing myself through the eye."

"Yeah?" Neal braced himself to hear about Alex and the aborted reunion. He'd practised some words of support but now the conversation was imminent, he couldn't recall any of the key phrases he'd prepared.

"Yeah… Peter and I made a deal so I don't have to go and waste an hour with Doctor Patrick every Wednesday evening. No more sitting there while _Phil_ tries to psychoanalyse my brain. Did he tell you, I'm off the hook?"

"When he came to see me yesterday, he mentioned it. Said that it was a trial for a week."

"It's a done deal. I won't be going back, but before you go getting all flustered, it's not all fluffy clouds and rainbows for me. Did Peter tell you what he negotiated?"

"He said that you had agreed to be more honest with him and Elizabeth, that you were going to talk things through with them if you had any worries."

"Yeah, that's the plan," Eric replied sarcastically. "Straight after I jam my head in a vice and press the crush button."

"Eric…"

"Hey, don't fret. If I did have something worrying me, they'd be the first port of call…you can count on it."

"What can I count on?"

"Let me finish my story, please. I haven't got to the good part – Peter's ingenious brainwave. Instead of going in and seeing the doctor, Peter made me go _ice-skating_ with him."

Neal laughed, even though it hurt. "Seriously? Peter didn't say."

"I'm not surprised.

"He made me go ice-skating with him once, told me that it was a disgrace that I was living in New York and didn't know how to skate. I tried to point out that-"

"My story," Eric pointed to his chest. "You can tell yours after I've gone home."

Neal bit his lip and wondered, not for the first time, how Peter had managed to live with the brat for so long without strangling him already.

"Anyways, so Peter gets me out on the rink and I've already worked out that this is his way of forcing us to spend time together and maybe while we're doing laps, I'll open up to him about school and if I've made any friends and stuff like that…"

"Were you cold? When I went my hands didn't thaw-"

Eric cleared his throat and pointed at his chest once more. "No, I wasn't cold. Not that I noticed anyway. I'm used to it."

"Yeah, of course you are." It was Neal's turn for sarcasm.

"So, we started going around the rink. I'd never been on the ice before so it took me a couple of laps to find my feet. Peter was right beside ready to lend a hand if I slipped and I'm man enough to admit, I slipped a few times. My feet came out from under me and he would stop me from falling down onto the ice. But after a little bit, I got the hang of it and I was able to hold my own as we went around. So that's when Peter bites the bullet and throws out an opportunity for me to 'chat.'"

"About?"

"Oh," Eric looked around as he pretended to think, "I can't even remember. It was nothing, maybe something like, 'How do you feel about having to share a room with a baby?'"

"I don't think that was it."

"Nah, it wasn't but you're missing the point. So we're moving along, me taking the occasional near-spill and Peter hovering over me ready to save me and after a few more of the 'bonding' moments, I twisted my head and looked up at Peter and-"

"What did you say, Eric?"

Eric laughed, "I said, 'Peter, I've heard you and Elizabeth making out in your bedroom. Can you tell me what you guys do in there so I'll know what to do when I have to do it?'"

Neal's mouth dropped open but no sound came out.

Eric laughed some more, "Hey, that's the very same expression Peter had…right before his skates slipped out from under him and he landed flat on his back on the ice."

"Eric…that was mean."

"Hey, it was all his idea in the first place. Plus, I did try and reach out and stop him from falling down but I was barely able to stay on my on two feet."

"Because of the laughing?"

"Ice-skating is so much harder when your chest is convulsing."

"Poor Peter," Neal glanced over at the security window, unable to resist the smile that tugged at his lips. "No wonder he didn't say anything…So I take it no more ice skating?"

"Dunno. It wasn't the worst thing in the world and Peter said I had good technique. There's a team at school I could join, they play Saturday mornings…"

"Hey, if you want to do that, I won't mind. We can catch up some other times."

"Yeah, we'll see," Eric glanced at his watch and then looked over at the security window himself. "I guess Peter wants to have his turn."

"Listen," Neal reached out and used his hand to block the kid from moving away, "can you just…just sit down for a minute more."

Eric flopped back down onto his seat and pressed a button on his watch. "60 seconds."

Neal swallowed hard, if Peter could bite the bullet, he could man up as well. "You saw your mom."

"Did I?"

"Yes. Peter-"

"…told you. Of course he did."

"How was she? The last time I saw her she wasn't looking too good – all bandaged up and recovering from a nasty shoulder wound."

"Says the man who's masquerading as a mummy."

Neal tried to issue the boy a warning glare but with his face too sore to shape into anything menacing, it came across more as a lacklustre smirk. "Did she look well? What did she say?"

"I got to speak to her for all of five seconds before _Agent Able_ stepped up to the plate and thwarted our reunion. But what do you care anyway? Mom's been hurt before, got herself into lots more trouble than this. Where were you then? Why the sudden interest in my mom's wellbeing?"

Neal paused to consider his words and to decide if it was worth continuing. He didn't need Doctor Patrick's qualifications to know that the kid blamed him for everything bad that had happened since coming to New York and a multitude of other painful memories prior to their arrival. Who knew what stories Alex had spun to put herself in a good light or to aid her explanations for any and all issues they may have encountered? "Eric, despite what you may think, or have heard about me, I do care deeply for your mom and the fact that I haven't been in contact with her since you were born, was only because that was how she wanted it."

"How do you know what she wanted? Did you ever ask her?"

"No. Because, well…she never gave me the chance. One day she's here in New York and everything between us is just right, and then the next, she's gone. No forwarding address, no postcards to say how she's enjoying her new life, not even a text message."

"What if something bad had happened to her? Huh? Did you consider that it may not have been her choice to disappear?"

"Listen kiddo, I'd known your mom for a long time. We'd lived together, we'd…pulled jobs together. I knew how she felt about commitment and whenever your mom felt like her ties were getting too strong, too constricting, she'd clear out. When she left, I was saddened, but I wasn't surprised. The fact that she disappeared for more than ten years wasn't out of character for Alex."

"As if you'd know," Eric scoffed.

"There's a lot I'm yet to learn in this life, but this is one time I'm certain, Eric. And in case you were wondering, I didn't just wipe your mom from my memory. Over the years, I put feelers out to see how she was holding up. I asked around and heard through my sources that she was living around the Mediterranean…I even heard about you – that Alex had a child."

Eric raised his brows and despite himself, smiled proudly, "So you were all discussing me down at FED headquarters?"

"No," Neal stated unsympathetically. "We never discussed you. You weren't the one wanted for the theft of the Nobel Spirit stamp collection from Pittsford and implicated in a bunch of other transactions involving misappropriated artefacts …And don't worry, they were all before you were born so don't go thinking you can be incriminated as an accomplice and you're going to be locked away too."

"I wasn't thinking that," Eric dropped his gaze and started playing with his watch.

Neal felt instant regret at the words he'd chosen. "I'm sorry, Eric…what were you…"

"I was thinking Mom's been doing this for a long time."

When the boy looked up, it frightened Neal how familiar he was with the despondent expression he saw in the pained blue eyes. "You know, we've all been doing this for a very long time…but when you arrived in New York with your mom, and I saw you for the very first time and knew immediately that you were my son, I told myself, that was it. I wasn't going to do it any more, that things were going to change and that I was going to do everything I could to make things right for you."

Eric stared at his father for the longest time. Finally he asked, "Is that why you went along that night to help Mom?"

"Peter told you?"

"Not much, but some. You're not the only one that Peter gets to snitch to."

Neal sighed, "Yes, I went along to try and talk your mom out it. I told her we'd find another way, that Peter could help, but…you know your mom…"

"Stubborn as a lazy pig in the warm midday mud."

"Yeah," Neal smiled. "That sounds about right."

Eric checked his watch, "Seems like your minute was up ages back, I just didn't hear the beep." He pushed up from his chair and motioned towards the security room. "Peter's gonna be upset if I spend any longer. He'll think he's not needed anymore."

"Yeah, you better go before he goes off to find some other skating buddy."

Eric smiled and almost said something nice. But he still had one more question. It was the one reason he'd insisted on coming and he didn't want to walk off without taking something away. However, his brain was already loaded with more than he could handle and he was no longer in the mood. Advice regarding Rosie Adintay would have to wait for another time because the only question he could think to ask was, "Uh…That thing the other prisoners thought you had…it has something to do with Mom, doesn't it?"

Neal considered the boy's question and took a long moment to contemplate the time they'd just spent together. Since finding out he had a son, it was the most rewarding, honest and heart-felt thirty minutes he'd ever spent with the boy…and he'd be dammed if he was going to let it end on a lie, so he simply said, "Yes."


	18. Chapter 18

Eric lay face down on his bed plucking away at what remained of the carpet threads that lay directly below his swaying hand. It was Sunday afternoon and ordinarily they would have been out at some forced family fun afternoon, but due to the previous week's disastrous outing and the emotionally draining week they'd all had, Peter and Elizabeth had declared during breakfast that they'd be spending the day at home. Of course, it probably went without saying since the deluge of rain that had bucketed out of the skies the night before, had continued to pour down non-stop throughout the day, with no end in sight. Earlier, Eric had gazed out the bedroom window at the water flowing down the street like a raging stream, desperate to reach the river mouth, taking along with it, tree leaves, and litter and the occasional pedestrian battling against the odds. For a little while it had been fascinating to observe the occasional car, stupid enough to think travelling on a sheet of water was justified by whatever desperate emergency the owner of the vehicle deemed unable to put off till the weather subsided, but when he was unable to distract his mind any longer, he had flopped back down on his bed where his thoughts drifted once more to his mom, to Neal, to the Burkes and of course, to his dysfunctional existence.

As the trouble thoughts continued to churn over and over in his head, the sound of approaching footsteps had him quickly scrambling to cover up his handiwork and flipping onto his back, just as Elizabeth strolled into the room carrying an armful of school shirts and pants.

"Hey, Sweetie, how you doing up here?" she asked while hanging up the ironing in the built-in-closet space. "You don't feel like coming down and watching a movie with us?"

"Isn't Peter watching a game?"

"Yes, but three votes wins against one. If you feel like watching something, I'll break the news."

"I feel like watching Zombies from the Burning Abyss 12: Gates of Damnation."

Elizabeth closed the closet door and turned with a smile, "Is it G or PG?"

"What do you think?"

"Then maybe sometime you can watch it with us when-"

"Scott-Allen's gone to sleep…I remember you saying it, like fifty thousand times already."

"Then why suggest it in the first place?" El asked as she helped herself a spot on the end of the bed.

Eric instinctually slid his legs across until they were practically touching the wall under the window, creating a substantial buffer zone. "Because I don't watch baby movies and you asked me what I felt like watching and the Zombie movie is what I felt like."

"Well, sweetie, if that's what you'd really like to do, I suppose Scott-Allen and I can come up here and play a board game or do a craft activity?"

Eric shook his head, "Don't bother. It's not like I'm gonna lose any sleep over of it anyways. It's probably just the same as the other eleven movies."

"No doubt," Elizabeth concurred. "And your mom didn't mind you watching these types of movies?"

"No, of course she didn't," Eric frowned, somewhat offended that it had even been suggested. "Why would she? I'm not a baby you know?"

"We know that, Eric. It's just these particular movies are made for adults and sometimes when younger people watch them, they can have trouble distinguishing between fact and fiction and they end up getting concerned that some of the things they see in the movies might be real and sometimes they have nightmares as a result."

"That's not what I have nightmares about." Eric pushed up on his elbows as he defended angrily, "Maybe I have nightmares about been stuck here in Lollypop Land for eternity."

Elizabeth eyed the boy for a moment before patting his leg and pushing up from the bed, "Okay, sweetie. If you think you're okay with it, I'm sure Peter will enjoy watching it with you sometime."

"I'm sure there's not much chance of that," Eric grumbled under his breath then without being able to stop himself, he mentioned to Elizabeth's retreating back, "Mom let me do a lot more things that I'm not allowed to do here. It wouldn't hurt you and Peter to take a page out of her book and chill out a little."

Elizabeth turned back, the smile gone from her eyes. "Yes, Peter and I should probably 'chill out' more," she accepted while returning to her seat on the bed, "but it's not easy to do something when you don't feel is the right thing to do."

"Is that cryptic codded message by way of saying, my mom did the wrong thing by me?"

"No, sweetie. All I meant was, sometimes, it's hard when you are faced with having to do something, even though it goes against every grain in your body saying, 'Don't' - especially if you have the choice not to. You know what the right choice is, but in order to do so, you have to compromise your loyalties to those you love… It's not an easy conclusion for an adult to come to, so it must be even that much harder for a little boy who is missing his mom."

"I've never had any trouble deciding anything, Elizabeth. Not before and certainly not now. Just because Mom's not here at the moment doesn't mean I'm incompetent."

"Of course you aren't," El reached out and brushed a noticeable piece of fluff off the bedspread while swallowing hard. "Last Sunday, back at Yankee Stadium, you had a chance to take off with your mom but you didn't feel it was the right thing to do, leaving Scott-Allen on his own."

Eric looked up like he'd just been betrayed by a close friend.

"Yes, Scott-Allen told me. Bit by bit I got the whole story out, even the part about you meeting your mommy later at the 'King's Bridge.'"

Eric couldn't resist a small, knowing smirk and for some reason, didn't withdraw his arm when Elizabeth's hand came to rest on his.

"Eri, despite the consequences, at that moment you did what you knew to be right. And when I found out what you did, it reinforced what I had known all along - no matter what goes on in your head sometimes, it won't change the fact that I'll always consider you a man of strong principles and a good heart. And if it came to the crunch, sweetie, if I had to trust my son in your hands, I'd do it in a flash, because in here," Elizabeth tapped her index finger against the boy's chest, "no matter everything else you've ever said or done, or will do…this is what counts, and it's the Eric Hunter I see every time I look at you."

Elizabeth patted the boy's hand once more and without waiting for a response to her disclosure, she departed the room, leaving behind one bewildered young man.

Eric waited till he heard the footsteps reach the bottom of the steps and diffuse on the carpet of the living room before turning over and brushing his suddenly watery eyes against his pillow. He hadn't been expecting Elizabeth to say what she had, rather he'd been waiting for her to go on about what an unfit mother Alex Hunter was and how she had her vote for the Worst Parent on the Planet Award. But there'd been no mention of bad parenting and what she'd actually said had left Eric perplexed. He'd never cared much for 'Mrs Brady,' thinking she was not too far removed from a cardboard cut-out masquerading as substitute for the real thing and in turn, Eric had figured Mrs B had similar, if not far worse misconceptions about her resident gate crasher. It was possible Elizabeth had just done a stellar job of bullshitting him in order to gain his trust so she could screw him over at a later date, but then again, that didn't really seem like Elizabeth's modus operandi…In the end, he didn't know what to think.

Eric's head was heavy with thoughts as his brain worked over time to make sense of his world and the people who controlled it. He felt a pressing pain formulating somewhere in the back of his skull but instead of getting up to seek out a tablet to relieve the ache, he rolled off the bed and onto his head, hoping that a sudden knock might chase away the inevitable. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect and he lay on his side on the floor, nursing his damaged cranium, feeling completely sorry for himself. Once more he had tears in his eyes and it wasn't until he was able to blink most away, that he focused on the rejected cardboard box nestled at the back against the wall.

Feeling as though he was powerless to stop himself, Eric reached under the bed and retrieved the dusty package. He sat up and leaned against his bed with the box nestled between his knees. The box had his name in bold letters printed across the front, but other than that, there was no indication of its contents. But Eric didn't need a label to know it was a painting, and more specifically, a painting of a boat. Why Neal would think he'd care to hang an insipid painting in his room, Eric would never know. Perhaps because he'd spent a lot of time, in and out of fishing boats and the likes, Neal may have thought he hand an affinity for them, but he didn't.

Eric picked away at the packaging tape and removed it quietly from the box, least someone nosey come up the stairs to inspect and ask, 'Whats oo doin, Air-wick?' He scrunched the tape up into a ball and tossed it towards his desk then reached in and slid out the canvas frame. It was facing away from him, but before he'd even half turned it over, he could tell it wasn't a painting of a boat.

'My bad,' he shrugged while recalling the conversation he'd had with Neal but the blasé attitude soon dispersed as his eyes locked onto the image before him. It was his mom, and him sitting on some beach with a rocky outcrop behind them and aqua blue water lapping at their feet. In the painting, Eric was depicted as a boy of a much younger age but his mom, she was exactly how Eric recalled her, every feature perfect, every line, every colour, every nuance – just how she looked every time he closed his eyes and pictured her. It was unlikely his mom had given Neal a photo of the two of them, but maybe Peter had found one amongst his mom's personal possessions and given it to him. In any case, Eric couldn't recall having ever seen a photo to match this painting. He was mesmerised by his mom's likeness, but also by the scene that reminded him so much of all the wonderful days they'd spent lazing by the ocean, wondering what the poor people were doing. At moments like the one portrayed in the painting, Eric and his mom would consider themselves, the richest people on the planet. Unfortunately, it couldn't always be that way and as the years went on, moments like this one became further and further apart.

Eric ran his finger down his mom's beautiful flowing hair and touched the side of her face like he could feel the warmth of her skin in the tips of his fingers. The tears flowed once more as he carefully returned the painting to its box and slid it back under the bed, well out of sight. After a little while, he pulled himself together and stepped into the bathroom to splash water on his face and check his eyes for any incriminating evidence before tracking down Scottie to see if he could talk him into suggesting they all watch either Sharknado or Butcher in the Basement.

# # #

Eric slammed shut his Math text and pushed up from his desk while sighing with boredom. The set homework tasks were mind-numbingly simple and he considered, not for the first time, how easily he could use his talents to supplement his pittance of an allowance. He often heard his peers big timing themselves by suggesting they would jump at the chance to pay someone to complete their homework assignments but as tempted as he was to put his hand up to get the extra cash, he'd have to be an idiot to commit to something that would see him sitting at his study desk even one second longer than he was already forced to. Happy to be finished with the afternoon's excruciating exercise in futility, he made his way down stairs where he flopped onto the couch, snatched up the remote and began flicking through the channels.

"Hey," Scott-Allen pushed up from his pillow-pet and spun around to face the older boy. "I was washing that, Air-wick."

"You've been hogging the TV ever since we got home. It's my turn now, squirt."

"But I didn't get to see hows day get Milos back."

"They don't. I've seen this episode before and Milo accidently makes his way into a pet food company and gets stuck in the meat-grinding room where he-"

"Eric," Elizabeth called from the kitchen. "Come here please."

Eric glared at the young child before stuffing the remote down the back of the couch and moseying on over to the kitchen like he was out for a lazy afternoon stroll. "You rang?"

"Yes," Elizabeth checked on something in the oven then turned to her young charge. "Have you finished all your homework already?"

"Yeeess," Eric groaned while rolling his eyes. Every afternoon he got asked and every afternoon it was the same answer. "You know you could just assume that since I'm down here and not up in my room doing it, that it's done."

"I could or I could just ask."

"Whatever," Eric mumbled and started making his way back over to the TV.

"And since you are done, you can peel the potatoes and cut up the carrots."

"Oh man!" he wined. "Why do I have to? I don't see you ever asking Scott-Allen to slice up the tomato or take out the trash."

"He has his own jobs to do. Plus, he's not having to do extra chores to pay back a large sum of money, so it's a little different for him."

Eric stared at the woman, deciding if it was worth mentioning that he still had an English essay to write up but in the end he simply huffed and moved back across to the kitchen counter. "How many?"

"About five medium sized potatoes should do it, and maybe three carrots."

"Fine." Eric collected what he needed before coming back around and planting his butt on one of the kitchen stools. He'd hoped that at some point Elizabeth and Peter would stop playing the supplementary chores card as retribution for the Barkley heist but so far, there appeared to be no end in sight.

"Christmas is just around the corner," El started in on the obligatory small talk. "What are you hoping Santa will bring you?"

Eric looked up and issued her the most offended, most disbelieving, most outraged expression he could muster. "Seriously?"

Elizabeth smiled with genuine innocence and held up her hands in mock surrender. "I didn't know. I'm not up to speed with what age children stop believing in Santa Claus. I didn't want to just assume and be the one to burst your bubble."

"Rest assured," Eric dropped his gaze back down to the task at hand and continued to peel, "my bubble got burst long before you came along."

El's smile dissipated in an instant and once more she found herself comparing this child's upbringing to that of the child slouched on the pillow-pet. "Uh, I only asked because I know a few weeks back you asked about an electronic scooter. Is that still something you'd like for Christmas?"

"You don't need to get me anything."

"Of course we'll be getting you something for Christmas, sweetie and it's not that we have to, it's because we want to."

Eric checked his watch before stating matter-of-factly, "A scooters not such a good idea, anyway. Mom will be coming back to get me soon and I won't be able to take it with me when I go."

Elizabeth went about stirring a sprinkling of spice into the meat sauce while she considered how to respond. "You know…you could always leave your scooter here so it'll be something to look forward to when you come visit."

Eric paused with his peeler resting on a fresh potato but didn't look up as he also considered an appropriate response. "If you insist on getting me something, how about something small. Mom always got me little things so it was easy to pack up and take with us when we moved on, or," he shrugged, "something consumable is a good, practical idea."

El turned away and busied herself with looking for an item in the pantry while she forced back the moisture welling in her eye sockets. The length and breadth of what this child had gone through in his short years upset her to no end, but she couldn't afford the luxury of displaying her feelings on the subject in front of him. It wasn't easy though – eleven-year-old boys shouldn't have to be concerned with the practicality and size restrictions of a gift.

"You looking for something?" Eric was alerted by the sudden lull in the conversation.

"Ah…yeah," El made a show of checking the spice rack before turning back. "I just can't see the oregano."

Eric made an oops motion with his mouth. "I…I may have used the last of it one day last week when I made a grilled cheese sandwich after school…but there was only a little left anyway," he hastened to add.

"It's okay, sweetie, these things happened."

"That's not what you said when you caught me," the boy challenged.

"Because the dinner was five minutes off being served, I'd just stepped down to the laundry and when I came back, the first thing I see is you and Scott-Allen devouring a huge pile of sandwiches."

"We were both hungry."

"And I'd told you that dinner was almost ready."

"Fine, but can't you admit that maybe it was just a slight overreaction on your part – I hardly think it was worth the hiding you gave us."

"It was one whack each. If Peter had been home, you'd have got a lot more and you know it."

"Speaking of the tyrant, where is he anyways? Shouldn't he be well home by now?"

"He has a inter-departmental meeting that he said wouldn't finish until quite late." Elizabeth closed the pantry door and went about turning all the knobs down on the stove. "They were going to order food in."

Eric noticed that Elizabeth had turned off the heat and asked, "What are you doing?"

"We're just going to slip out and get some oregano. "Scott-Allen," she called out across into the living room, "get your shoe poddies on, sweetheart."

"Hey," Eric wiped his hand on the kitchen towel, "it's okay. I'll just run up to Kwan's. It'll take me five minutes. No need for us all to go."

"Ahhh…" Elizabeth considered. Eric was allowed to go up to the Seven Eleven with the neighbours kids if he asked first and a couple of times, he'd gone by himself thinking he could go unnoticed, but she just wasn't sure, "How about we all go for a quick walk. We'll take Satchmo and stretch his legs-"

"And before you know it, this three-ringed circus has turned a ten minute event into an all day marathon. How about I take Satchmo, if you're that concerned and at least the two of us can get it done before theses vegetables go out of date."

Elizabeth eyed the boy suspiciously, "How come you're so keen to go? You don't have cash in your pocket for a Slurpee do you?"

Eric huffed and pulled out his pockets, turning them inside out. "No, no such luck. I'd just hoped that if I went and got it for you, when I came back, this," he indicated the potatoes, "would be done already."

Elizabeth smiled as she collected her purse from the counter and took out a five dollar bill, which she handed over to the boy. "Okay, fair enough. But take Satch and don't go making any detours into the Seven Eleven."

"Why would I?" Eric sprouted with cocky innocence as he pocketed the money and called the dog over so he could attach the lead. "The Slurpee machine has been busted since before the weekend."

"And how would you know that?"

"Uh…I…" Eric shrugged on his jacket with haste and shuffled out the front door while mumbling some inaudible explanation that was never intended to be understood.

Once out onto the street and a safe buffer zone had been established between his current position and the house, Eric checked the inside pocket of his jacket and smiled when he discovered a twenty nestled deep in the corner. He knew he had stashed it there a little while back but he wasn't sure if it had been discovered and reclaimed by either of the oldies. He turned the corner and began jogging up to Kwan's. "Come on, boy," he encouraged the Labrador, as he wanted to make the green walk light before it changed. "If we're going to have time for the Seven Eleven, we've gotta speed it along."

Eric tied Satchmo up outside the convenience store and went in to find the oregano. Because he was in a hurry of course, it was so much more difficult to locate on the shelves but he eventually uncovered the small glass jar behind a bottle of sage. He whipped out the note Elizabeth had given him and dashed around to the counter, only to be beaten by some ancient old lady wielding a basket of non-essential incidentals. Eric wanted to scream at her and explain that this was a 'convenience' store, to be used for the occasional cooking item that one suddenly and unexpectedly realised they were out of, and not for a weekly grocery outing but he didn't. Considering he probably would have had to listen to her for a day and a half while she mumbled on about how her broken hip prevents her from travelling in cabs, he remained tight lipped and lined up behind her, whiling Kwan to rush through her inventory like there was no tomorrow. Even though the Slurpee machine was busted, the frozen yogurt dispenser was going strong and he calculated he'd need a good five minutes to consume a cookies n cream flavoured large serve, least he got a brain freeze.

Finally, after what seemed like the longest two minutes in all of eternity, the old rhino moved away with her collection of bags allowing Eric to dump his one item onto the counter.

"$3.30…" Kwan scanned the item and held out his hand.

Eric handed over the note and checked his watch. It had only been six minutes and twenty-eight seconds since he'd left the house and if he ran back, he'd still have a couple of minutes spare up his sleeve for the frozen yogurt. As soon as he had the change in his hands, he snatched up the bottle, and bolted out the door. "Come on boy," Eric hastily unravelled Satchmo's lead and pulled him to the edge of the curb. "You want to go across and get us a treat?" Eric glanced to the left – a lone car was coming but as soon as it passed, his path was free…although, the car didn't pass. As it approached it indicated and slowed down and soon came to a complete stop in front of the boy and his dog. Eric was about to curse when the passenger window came down and a wonderfully welcome face appeared. "Mom!"

"Hey, my beautiful Prince. Get in."

This time, Eric didn't need to be told twice and he certainly had no qualms about leaving the family pet by the side of the road. Tying Satchmo's lead once more to the nearest pole, he instructed the dog to sit, placed the bottle of oregano between the animal's front legs and jumped into the car. "Let's go!"


	19. Chapter 19

"You hungry?"

"Yeah." Eric checked his watch – seven forty-one. A little over three hours had passed since Elizabeth had no doubt alerted Peter that their troublesome charge had gone AWOL. Eric imagined that when he hadn't returned after about twenty minutes, she'd ushered Scott-Allen out the door after shoving his stupid 'shoe-poddies' onto his feet and throwing a warm jacket around his shoulder and when she spotted Satchmo sitting outside Kwan's, she probably had a moment of extreme relief. Relief that was squashed into the ground and washed away by the flood of adrenaline that engulfed her body when her eyes set upon the oregano bottle sitting ominously beside the secured pet. At that point Peter would have received a phone call, which in all honesty, he had to have been expecting at some point. Upon deciphering the panicked message, orders would have been issued and a current photo of Alexandra Hunter and her eleven-year-old son dispatched through fibre optic cables to every law-enforcement center in the country. "I could really use a bathroom break. Is it safe to stop?"

"Yes. But I'll go in by myself to get the food. They'll be looking for a single woman travelling alone with a boy. We can't afford to be seen anywhere together, you understand?"

"Yeah, of course I do," Eric was quick to snap. "I've been living with the Burkes, not in some mental hospital having my brain drained."

Alex laughed. "Sorry, Eri. It's just been so long since we've done this together, it's going to take a little while for me to get used to working with a partner once again."

"And whose fault is that?" the boy questioned in a challenging tone that Alex had been expecting from the outset, but the joy of seeing his mom had kept his emotions in check for the past two hundred miles and the conversation had been completely amicable as Eric stated over and over how happy he was that they were finally together again and wanted to know where she'd been hiding out and how she'd been able to run surveillance on his comings and goings without alerting the FBI to her presence. Now it seemed, the amnesty period had expired and the moral interrogation was about to proceed.

"I explained to you Eri, when I first escaped from the hospital, I was in pretty bad shape so I needed the better part of six weeks to recuperate. The bullet cut through the brachial artery and I lost a lot of blood. I was very weak for a long time."

"That's six weeks, you were gone for six months, Mom. You didn't think maybe you better come back and see how I was getting along living with a bunch of strangers and being forced to bond with a father I had never known."

"Look, I understand you being upset, Eric, but how about we get some food before I tackle the really hard questions."

"Whatever," Eric grumbled. "But before that even, any chance we can make that pit stop soon? My bladder isn't going to hold out much longer."

Alex grinned. "There's a small shopping mall about three miles ahead. Change into that shirt I brought along for you on the backseat and wear-"

"The cap pulled down low…I know Mom. I've done all this before, many times over. It seems like if anyone's forgotten anything, it's you."

# # #

Eric crumpled up the empty French fries packaging and tossed it over his shoulder onto the back seat before taking a slurp of his giant frozen raspberry soda. When his mouth was finally freed of obstacles he asked, "So how'd you get out of the hospital? When I last saw you, you had machines hooked up to you and a guy with a gun standing guard at your door."

"As it turned out, getting away was quite simple. They sent me down for another x-ray on my shoulder and while I was behind the curtain supposedly stripping down, I changed into some civvies and slipped away through a back door. It was amateur hour as far as NYPD was concerned cause I had no trouble jumping on the first bus heading out and from there I slowly made my way down the coast and crossed over to Venezuela."

Eric spun around to face his mom. "Did you see-"

"Yep. Luisana and Manuel helped nurse me back to health."

"What about Yessi?"

"She's calmed down a lot now that she's a proud mommy."

"Yessi had puppies?"

"Yes. Three little cuties all with black patches over their eyes," Alex conveyed with delight. "I have some photos I can show you when we stop."

"Or you could just show me the puppies. Is that where we're headed?"

"Just for a short stop over. We can't stay for too long."

"Why can't we? You did," Eric cracked. "You went and stayed there for as long as you felt like!"

"Listen, Eric. Before you go off all hot headed let me explain-"

"Whatever." Eric slumped in his seat and pulled the cap down over his eyes.

"While I was getting better at Luisana and Manny's," Alex continued despite the silent protest, "I started tracking down leads on the third Spindle Neuron Jade and…well, I found it."

Eric pushed back his cap and looked up with disbelieving eyes, "The elephant?"

"Yes, my prince," Alex confirmed excitedly. "I found it."

"Where?"

"Well, I got some Intel that lead me at first to Sri Lanka and Malaysia."

"Why didn't you come back and get me and take me with you?"

"It wasn't safe, Eri. I was struggling myself and I didn't feel I could watch over both of us and go after the Jade at the same time…it just wouldn't have worked out."

"I could have been a big help to you but instead you made an executive decision to dump your partner and go it alone?"

"It was the best for everyone all round."

"Says you."

"Says the mother who didn't want her put her son in harm's way, especially in light of what we went through in Dubrovnik."

"You could have sent me a message, telling me what was going on. I didn't have a clue."

"And how would that have worked? Me sending you a postcard postmarked with Anuradhapura and saying, 'Hey, my Prince. Just letting you know I'm fine and I'm on my way to Caotang Bay. C U Soon. Luv Ma'ma…P.S. Don't let Peter see this.' You know the first rule of a successful secret?"

"Don't tell anyone…Yes, don't you think I remember – they were the first three words I ever spoke."

"Look, no matter what you think," Alex shrugged, "it was just a decision I had to make. It wasn't easy for me either you know? A number of times I almost gave up and headed back to collect you."

"But you didn't."

"And fortunately for both of us, I didn't accept defeat. My last night in Bangkok, I met up with this fascinating Rigaudon dancer who pointed me in the direction of a casino owner in Macau."

"So let me get this straight," Eric fixed his mother with an unimpressed scowl. "While I was subjected to six months of playing happy families with the _Cunninghams_ and made to sit through tediously mundane classes at _Archaic Academy_, you were off gallivanting around the South China Sea playing cards with the well-to-do. Do you realise how much effort it took on my part not to hop on the first bus out of the city myself and find some secluded beach to squander my days away?"

"Listen partner, it wasn't all fun and games for me you know. Most days I was in fairly excruciating pain with my shoulder and I had to rough it more times than I'd care to remember as I travelled through some seriously impoverished and dangerous parts of Asia."

"And yet you did it anyways. You didn't think at some point that enough was enough and you should call it a day?"

"No. I didn't. And before you ask why, you already know why so please save us both the effort by not having to speak of all over again."

"Whatever," Eric grumbled and this time when he pulled his hat down over his head, he shut his eyes and tried to imagine what Peter and Elizabeth or even Scottie for that matter, would be doing right about now.


End file.
